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I
I lied
when I said
“I’ll be home soon,
don’t you worry about me”
I just didn’t want to hear you
burst into tears
through the receiver
for it would also rain
down my cheeks
under the shadow of my helmet.


II
I lied
when I said
“Victory is ours”
after two nights and a wake-up
the only thing that was ours
were the dead bodies
of my comrades
bullet holes looked like
constellations
a mixture of green and red
on the concrete sky


III
I lied
when I said
“Prepare a feast,
decorate the streets,
the hero
is coming home”
when all I did was cower behind
a fort of soil and barbed wires
shaking
barely breathing
white knuckles
tightly gripping the Garand
as they circled the area
like vultures
searching for prey
in a desert full of bones


IV
I lied
to keep you from worrying
about my safety
because dear,
no one is safe
on the battlefield


V
I lied
as I took my oath
each word piercing my throat
like swallowing needles
when they pinned on my uniform,
the entire collection
glistening in the
morning light
the clanging noise as I march
like church bells
ringing a haunting sound
echoing through the hallway
the weight of the carats
is nothing
compared to the weight
of my guilt


VI
I lied
when I told you
that I was a hero
when I came home
but son,
the real heroes
are six feet
under the stone.
long time no post
so keen were his senses he could
discern differences in grains of sand,
hear gulls' calls long before others, and
recall the number of footprints
he left on his stretch of beach

yet he spoke not a word
since she passed, stolen from him
by a fever he felt from across the room,
while others had to lay hands
on her to know

the doctor would come
and go, whispering words to his father,
not realizing the boy could hear: "typhoid"
lay in his lexicon along with "suffering"
and "death"

then the priest and prayer
too late for the woman--there
for the father, son, and her ghost;
beguiling words like "comfort"
and "eternal life"

the boy did not reveal
being mute was of his volition
allowing less sentient beasts to believe
his silence was a manner to grieve
"ruse" he also knew

months did pass, and the
others implored him to speak;
he would return again and again
to his shore, where he heard
wings and winds and more

but there no creature
asked for his tongue to move;
his naked feet in the surf were enough
and when his tears wedded the waters
the sea made not a sound
Brown beetles, shiny shells
Embedded into my skin.
Burrowing, these crawlers
Find their home in my flesh.

I tear away, in a frenzy
For fear they'd make a stay
But this twisted dream
Ended, with the sunrise

Yet, much to my demise,
The itch, scratching, scuttling
Many legs, swimming among
All of me, an awful psychosis

I feel the digging, controlling.
Betrayed, I cannot trust where
My own extension , begins
And where insects end.
It seems forever and a time ago.
Since I felt, this sinister darkness
Haunt my bones, insidiously ethereal.
Outgrown, and overshadowed but,
Only temporary was the night.

In a search for self, after voiceless screams
Bled their emptiness into any word muttered.
Perhaps, I was fooled into the harmony
That this evil muse had whispered.
Her hast soul shattering tune.

Forewarned in foreshadows, nightmare's gleam.
The stability of my present, was the demise
Of my former. And I fade into the black.
A pale silhouette in the story of character
Marionette to this mutineer.
I have been tasked with consripting
Thoughts so wicked and vile, they
Are most certainly unnatural.

The transference from the chaos
Of the mind, to the semipermance
In written word is liberating.

To dive I to my madness one must
Understand, that the sincerest truth
That I have ever known is the deformity
Of self.

Every waking moment has been
A testament to the alienation of my
Own demeanor..but what made it tick?
Fresh blades of grass brush
Along my bare feet as I
Glide through the front yard.
A cute haiku from me to you.
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