When I put my eye to the telescope
to explore the dark depths of the universe,
I see a man standing on Mars. He has
a sword in his hands and blood pouring down
his face. He is too far away to hear
but I know he is screaming. His war cry
writes itself across his face and those wild
eyes haunt me when mine are closed. They are white
with rage and filled with the brutal, violent
love of war. He has a beauty which is
old with skin that has turned into rubble,
skin the colour of rust. Blood is embedded
in his surface and creates cracks, edges,
borders to old rivers long since evaporated.
His body is laced with the order of
a soldier and War traces the smooth skin
around his lips. I peer at him through the
darkness as he sleeps and the violence seeps
into his dreams, singing its lullabies
of explosions and ******. He weeps his
masculinity into the earth and
slowly is pulled into the endless dust
which stretches its way across his planet.