Instruments Of War
The baton is raised.
Silent savagery, lurks in the green.
Silent feet, step softly,
waiting for fear to explode.
No sound make...let no twig break...
breathe softly, begging breath,
beat quietly, pounding heart.
Like drums, stretched too tight,
under the shadow of fisted war sticks.
Like steel strings, stretched too tight,
under poised sharp fingers.
The instruments lie waiting.
The baton falls!
A thunderous collage of,
flashes and screams,
fire and flesh,
metal and bone,
ripping,
stripping,
life dripping,
red tears.
The conductors baton stills,
and as the green grows silent,
he smiles.
Instruments, lie broken,
the green smolders,
and tomorrow,
remembers no more.
(1990)
poem by George Vuyakovich
Added by Poetry Lover
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