It’s Madness

A prose poem

It’s madness, the blood thirst of a darkened mind. Psychopath’s who play God, believing they can rule them all. There were always such creatures, and we remember them as the years pass as those that scared the world watering lands with blood.

They expect it to be cold and dark, but the day the soldiers came the sun was shining bright, and the birds were chattering away. Children were playing under an old apple tree trying to catch a grasshopper. Dogs began to bark and that’s when a shot rang out.

Mother stumbled from the house with horror on her face. The children ran, and as they reached the mother she fell to the ground dead. A Soldier hurried passed, his weapon raised, alert, but not looking at the children kneeling, crying, and calling out their mother’s name. Grandmother appeared just as the soldier left, her eyes were opened wide just like her mouth. From somewhere a man came running, taking shelter in their house, followed by more soldiers, who stopped at the sight before them. Children crying with hands now covered in their mother’s blood an old woman weeping and calling for God. The soldiers lowered their weapons and stared at the scene, one started to cry walking away. Numbed with shock, the soldiers one-by-one slowly turned and walked away, all with the tears in their eyes, leaving the family now broken behind them. There is no justice in a war, no comfort for those who live to tell the tale. The scars that will never heal lie on both their hearts — the victim’s and the aggressor’s as well.

~ Iva