I won't fight
your war anymore.

I've seen it
from the ground
and I've seen it
from the sky.
And from these
vantage points
my eyes
will always
remember
the picture
of the blood
that my heart
no longer pumps
yet will never
forget.
Your killing machines
are the brightest blue.
They used to be
as loud as
fighter jets
but now I
only hear them
in the whispers
that haunt
the rubble
of who I am.
This poem is
nothing more
than a waving
white flag
atop that rubble;
the dandelion
that grows
from the vestiges
of what remains.

I won't fight
your war anymore.