A poem about a dream I had of soldiers outside my screen door. The soldier was not American.
Sepia, colors my nightmare invading forces frighten my poetic muse in a recruitment depot I'm watching the scene dressed in military fatigues while the world dives into chaos.
Chaotic people run around in circles, from behind venetian blinds of the center; all looks peaceful outside the backdoor. Where are the soldiers?
Perhaps it's loneliness and fear that makes me dream in riddles staring at a gunman outside my window pointing an M16 directly at me - then standing at attention.
I hear the hallucination it's an invasion perhaps it's just radio outside my head on my stereo replaying the events of the day. I'm merely a poet what do I know of war?
I've researched my ancestors' notebooks looking for notes to what their quills wrote of their times, Service, Tennyson Sassoon, Melville, Kipling, not even counting the host of thousands who wrote of WWII, to Vietnam and to this day's war.
I know there are no easy answers to the specter that haunts this dream Perhaps it's just the pain I carry. my empathic sensibilities longing for peace cuddling with an Iraqi mother and daughter from a refugee camp in a Basra Playground or sitting there at an coalition HQ like a coffee cup listening to some General's empty commands those men and women know what to do some will whisper their mother's prayers as parents whisper to their children from their solitude chairs into the universe's air to be safe and hurry home.
It still doesn't answer my question nor the strange dread I feel. The prophets have come perhaps it's time I took their call the recruitment center was my destiny, and the gun became a pen to join the fight.
A poet warrior must always battle he fights not for blood but for ideals of right My fight is for peace justice and mercy for this I know is right.
Unpardon me but I relent it boldly;
For it is far ahead, if I can be sure of it,
And far it is, that my hallucination be valid,
And hallucination it is, as it should be,
And however, unlike itself, mysterious, unknown, and untested,
So it be foreseen in my tireless search.
Reviewed by Kate Clifford (Reader)
Reviewed on May 28, 2005
Remarkable write that touches the fibre of the insanity of war.
Reviewed by Dens Dreamweaver (Reader)
Reviewed on July 24, 2003
An excellent write. Brings home the stark reality of war - and what all must be feeling..
Dear readers, this is my third book of poems, and inside are a special collection of what have turned out to be not only MY personal favorites, but also the favorites of many of YOU. Some of these have never been available in print before...
Share
Print
Save
Follow
For it is far ahead, if I can be sure of it,
And far it is, that my hallucination be valid,
And hallucination it is, as it should be,
And however, unlike itself, mysterious, unknown, and untested,
So it be foreseen in my tireless search.
Namaste'
Melanie
You have amazing talent..
Thank you for the kind
review on my poem:)
Peg