The War is Like Honey in Holiday Lights by David L O’Nan

The War is Like Honey in Holiday Lights

On this Christmas,
we are in these smoking lights
In our poverty,
In our never-ending wars
Like every Christmas it seems,
Ever since I became a young man
They forced me into these hate battles
Fighting “enemies ” whose faces –
Are in family photos,
Just like mine.
The government has tried to white-out my mind
Many years ago,
Blank me out,
a dot to be eaten by the machine
Replaced me into the sticky,
Fill in the wounds with the honey,
In stitches
Cohesive, bare boned and breathing in
Last heartbeats.
There are the memories,
Pretty voices humming
In hope,
I pray to a sky
That I cannot fathom all the angels
The angels,
That supposed to be cradling us all.

As these nightmares burn in our skin,
Layer me in towers upon towers of fears.
I try to imagine,
A boyhood love of bells ringing,
Instead of missile sirens purging –
the pure from the air.

I will always have my mother’s voice
She will sing to me from the haunts
Sing to me,
In hope
As more of my brother’s fall.
I cradle in this sticky dirt in my cuts,
And hold it up,
So, my angels can cradle me

By davidlonan1

David writes poetry, short stories, and writings that'll make you think or laugh, provoking you to examine images in your mind. To submit poetry, photography, art, please send to feversofthemind@gmail.com. Twitter: @davidLOnan1 + @feversof Facebook: DavidLONan1

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