Memoir Of A Soldier

The weathered windows of nearby ruins rattle with fury,
Threatened in death, but silenced by the raging hearts fluttering loud, in digital,
Through radio waves and television signals, stories and statistics,
Ripping open the land like a torn page,
Dividing a world that was meant to be whole;
Set into motion by a subtle mixture of teardrops and blood,
That which still escapes my veins,
Blessing this diary with my life force, each moment of bliss and ascension
As well as those memories where I lost myself walking carelessly in the night;
And as of days late, a world in which there is only winter,
Ice, death, and blanketed expression.

One solitary chance to release it all, these words are encrypted with languages
That I dream of shouting to the world; my God, this is a state of emergency
And as I open up my head, exposing my inner self,
I wish to bring a promise of truth and rosebuds, acceptance, and honesty
Amidst this cold war backed by ignorance.

As I look beyond my pinewood window sill, my thoughts are lifted beyond the glass.
The approaching army is reflected off my eyes,
And there is an aroma drifting on the restless, chilling wind
Of a fire burning somewhere; quite possibly the scent of shattered lives
Cast in the image of black smoke, fading away into the clouded sky.

So, it stirs a spark amongst the aging dust collected within me;
With eyes set on the clock to strike the hour,
This very minute, where I break my silence
And I stand, not just an ordinary man, but as a soldier
With his sword raised and ready to fight for what is right,
And it is known that right makes might;
Yes, I will remain static on this field of broken mirrors
And ghosts of years tragically left to rot
And be consumed by the vultures whose names are "Fear", "Hatred", and "Past";
Until I set the Earth back upon its axis and reconcile this divided world.

Do not approach silence gently, for it is only the silent that begin to die within,
Instead save for those few short minutes of mourning those fallen in battle.
Keep in mind, the most sovereign swords are gilded with words, not metal.
Believe in miracles, and open your eyes each day, content with who you are
And aid those around you to embrace their reflection, for they are loved, regardless.
And always remember to cast your ear toward none but your heart,
The truth can be found within the rhythm, a steady backbeat
To this, which is our war.