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War

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I do not want your kiss

you are too close!

I can feel your chilling breath,

and I can taste your bitter scent.

The stillness of your voice,

that recalls the sound of death,

you belong in far off fields,

in Former days and distant lands.

Do not make me see your eyes,

or touch your fragile hands.

So safe for me

to glance at poppy fields,

and ordered rows of

white and chiselled stones,

markers of the fallen and the lost,

fixed so firm and fast,

that stand in mournful regiments,

on trimmed and even grass,

but you?

Move your countenance from me,

and stand more distant, more alone,

for your beauty is as piercing as splintered wood,

Or shattered glass.

How can I not see?

You are the whimpering of a child

clinging to the darkness of a bombed out room

you are flinching at the tapping rain,

beneath the cold and heartless moon,

you are the raped, the beaten, the tortured,

the woman who longs for stillness and rest

from the soldier’s reckless rage,

where men, no longer men, now are so much less,

as they quell the song of innocence,

and break the heart within your shattered breast.

Do not hold on to me so fast,

or breathe your disquieting words,

for in your voice I hear the grief

beneath the sirens and the blasts,

the tears you stem,

so deep,

there is the fear that you may drown.

My sight is now lowered to ground,

for that dark and cavernous space behind your eyes,

is filled with echoes of your silent prayers,

my fortress heart cannot perceive,

I do not want your kiss

You are too close to me

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