Once there was a war
No one won a nightmare
From which I am still
Waking up and when I do
It will be forgotten but still
I seek to sleep perchance to
Dream a better dream.


Xmas Morning 1919

The shadow of the flowering tree, shelters me as I write. Children soiled all over, yell and scream in their native tongue. Fruits dangle in the wind as the trees rock forth and back. Feeling a heavy load in my rib cage, I stretch inhaling the cool morning air. I gaze into the distance and drift with the lonely breeze.

A wind
A ghostly breeze
Kissing stone foreheads
Before screaming
In my ear