I fear at dawn
That I’d be awaken in shock.
Thunderous planes roaming
In what used to be peaceful skies,
Echoing like rolling boulders
Down the mountain trails.
I fear of the greed of men:
Thirst of land and riches.
Ships lining the horizon,
Docking on the coasts they don’t own.
Metallic screeches and clanking
Would be the prayers of the lost souls.
The earth is shaking,
I counted the bombs dropped:
One, two, and three.
The hands I used to write and paint,
Now cover my ears.
Acrid fumes poison my soul.
The poor and the wealthy—leveled out.
The pious and the irreverent,
Their faces are erased,
Covered in blood,
And bodies torn.
The rest are hungry,
Eating grasses and bitter water.
The rest succumbed to insanity.
The night skies glow like fireworks
And rained in fires.
Prisoners paraded on shattered path,
Awaiting for their fate, judgement, or death.
I will lull myself in broken whispers at night,
Until bullets kiss my soul.
Photo by Julie Tupas on Unsplash
© 2019 Onie Maniego and The Paper Drafts