In a dream the guns came out

drowning out the voice of reason

unheard the cries of little children

no one cared who fired first.

One side killing all the godless

the other murdering the priests

both were hunting reason’s voices

the middle ground a no-man’s land

No longer could we hear each other

above the roaring of the guns

we listened only to our comrades

true believers in the cause.

And then I saw the little boy

eye his mother as he died

I knew that with him died the nation

my country would exist no more.

In my dream I took a brush

although I knew I could not paint

and on a shattered building’s wall

emerged American Guernica.

Originally published in Fictionique

http://fictionique.com/?p=11360

©Toritto (words) - 2012