Little girls, little boys
Candy canes and flashy toys
A soft call, an enticing treat
Two obedient little feet
A huge smile, an invitation
A fun adventure to damnation
Restricted visions, muffled cries
Sugar bricks leading to demise

War isn't that fusillade you hear in the distance
betwixt the government troops and the resistance
it's the civilians getting tattered in the crossfire
it isn't the wham of bombardment from airstrikes
by blaring Jet fighters across a shower of black in the sky
it isn't the badonkadonk of a Rocket launcher or Black Mamba
but natives being swept like Safari ants in chunky numbers
War isn't those mines planted in hitherto playing field
but the ignorant innocent children in search for a distraction killed
War isn't the televised scorched homes and gardens with corns
but the consequent drought, scarcity and "famined" and feeble as thorns
War isn't those vehicles and motors torched
it's the blameless owner who in tears the absurdity watched
War isn't that cacophony of politicians on stuffed tables
their speeches filled with hypocritical vocabulary are but fables
speak to the maimed and dead whose voices are never heard
it's those who want the anarchy to end, it's they that are tired
War isn't the nations battling or the parties in contention
it's those set, torn and cast apart...the ones we seldom mention
the parents and siblings forced to say goodbye
while their Breadwinner falls victim to conscription
despondent and despairing as they look on and cry
knowing their brother and Son's like those taken before bound to die
or those refugees wanting to return to their cradle
but having no home and nothing to return to but rubble
those forced to stay in the first world midst racist chants and hate
jeered by the "civilised" like they chose their skin-color and fate
War isn't the famous voices we hear and talk about on the media
but the ****** girls abducted, gagged, ***** and mutilated
War isn't the beautiful monster tanks wrecking
but the historical landmarks and fashioned roads
reduced to nothing, the lives within squashed under their loads
War isn't the glamorous documentary films censored and unreal
but the muffled deadbeat voices from heartbreaks that never heal
It's seeing one's whole life sublime in one moment of savagery
compelling the orphaned and widowed into manacles of *** slavery
for with the loss of their husbands and parents, neighbours, Uncles
comes the tight grasp of inhumane chains and anchors
in those places they are forced to seek refuge
places where they are treated worse when they attempt to refuse
War isn't just being apart from your people by a million a mile
War's learning to wear a weighted mask of a smile
while the heart, Soul, Mind and one's entirety's in Tears
War's knowing all one's "perspirational" toils were but wasted years
fearing to tell one's story because among the presented ears
one can no longer tell one that truly listens from one that just hears
..
whatever's in speech be it poetry or Documentary isn't War
War isn't words, war isn't testimonies, there's more
destruction to War than the eyes, heart can handle
not ever can War fit in the descriptions of words we bundle
War's something humanity never deserve
so unfair for we make war when most can hardly make love.

.
        Flying, flying
        Away and dying
Across the night air is the cackling of witches.
        Flying, flying
        Away and crying
    Are children abducted for wickedest fun.
        Flying, flying
        Away and sighing
Are night winds that murmur in ominous pitches.
        Flying, flying
        Away and nighing
    Their lair, the witches have only begun.

O.O

If a song can have power over you
Enough to control the rhythm of your heart
What may one say of the composer?
Who when immersed in the art
Commands the spirits to closure
Is he real enough to feel
The power when awake?
Is he deceptive enough to conceal
The grip of a bygone state?
Revel in the magic till it lasts
Even if for a while at any rate!

This plain Monday seemed to be fine
Except I didn't recognize the bright beam
Floating near me in the blue berry sky.
I gazed at this peculiar sight
As the soaring machinery opened its great mouth.

Before I could fathom anything, I was lifted off my feet,
and ****** in like a baby bird consuming an earthworm.
I could no longer hear my own thoughts,
Only the squeaking and mumbling of Stoic strangers.
The pace of my pulse was light, but somehow rapid.

They gently lay me down in front of a foreign device,
A metallic blur to human eyes.
All of these creatures were sexless, and small in stature,
Despite being overbearingly powerful.
One of them knew my name, "Brandon Antonio Smith, this is the moment,
Your life will be changed for the better, forever it will." It kissed my forehead,
Its aromatic saliva remained behind, and eased my afflicted mind.

Then the figure took off all my clothing ,
Raised the instrument, and pierced it through my belly,
While saying "You will lose the knowledge of tears, laughter, happiness,
Rage, love, and all your memories. You are now one of us."  
Eerily, discomfort was not sensed at all.

They dropped me off from
Their space craft, back to Earth, and took off.
This Monday was not plain,
I will never be the same.
What they saw as peace was my nightmare.

Originally written 11/15/10
Revised 9/24/14

(c) 2014 Brandon Antonio Smith

Taken, screaming, kicking, his
nana's image slowly
dissapears
Being held tightly in tears,
nana is no longer there
No longer in nana's arms

He looks down at
dismal bottom steps
now empty
He smells the old wood
these steps of hell leading nowhere

Alien sounds from alien shoes,
he listens in fear and dread
Being lifted to an alien room;
taken against his six year old will

He remembers not what will come
remembering his nana's tears
at the bottom steps,
at the bottom steps of a foster home

And aghast, he was me...