The Before
You are told to steel yourself.
You are told not to hesitate,
Not to waste precious, valuable time.
If they look dead or dying, do not think.
Leave them and move on.
Do not look into their eyes.
You are told to steel yourself.
Nothing could have prepared you
For what lie behind those white doors.
They told you,
This is War.
The Beginning
You find time is relevant, here in the ward.
It is hard to distinguish between used-to-be white walls
And never-again white floors.
Your world is white and red.
Time is measured by lost arms/legs/death.
Time looks upon you and knows,
This is War.
The Middle
You know you’ve been here too long
When there are more ghosts in the room than people.
More soldiers are wheeled in,
Your breath catches.
These are not soldiers, these are boys.
These are children.
The blue eyes looking up at you fade,
In his hand there is a red ribbon.
You cannot tell if it started out that way.
The ghost reminds you,
This is war.
The End
The ground is quaking again.
Your heart hammers in your chest
Because it is too close, so close,
But not close enough.
Quiet suddenly you can no longer hear,
Not the screams or the shattering,
The sounds of the world falling apart and landing at your feet,
They are drowned out by an eerie white noise
You will forever associate with the word
Aftermath.
No one has moved.
They are either dead or in shock.
Everything is breaking and you cannot quiet shake that this,
This is war.
The After
You open the only door, the only escape.
Beyond those four walls
Is the nothingness left behind by the absolute
Obliteration of your universe.
This is not Death, you think.
You stare Death in the face everyday/hour/minute
And beat it back with brute force and titanium will.
No, you think. No.
This is war.
This is war.