Sitting there looking at that window,
I wonder.
What do you see?
The trees of a jungle, vines hanging down.
A peaceful green sanctuary.
Exotic birds, chirping and flying through the air
in a whirlwind of panic.
The roar of an airplane passing overhead.
Screams cutting through the air like a knife.
The warm metal held tightly on your hands, fingers on
the trigger.
Looking down, at the jungle floor, you don't
even flinch.
The jungle floor, drenched in blood and the
bodes of the fallen.
Death, its stench wafted in your nose.
The image fades away,
to a bright sunny morning.
The tree branches swaying with
the soft breeze.
Your gaze shifts to the two backpacks.
Long black hair swinging back and forth.
Muted laughter ringing into
your silence.
Your grandchildren,
walking off to school.