Now is the morning after, hear
Nothing except the crows
We mowed them down in rows, now
Only the streams run red
Taste the smell of smoke, fear
Running through every heart
We fought well from the start, now
All of our men lie dead
Look for the flash of steel, near
Fasten the bayonets
We killed without regrets, then
Just like the posters said
Now is the morning after, dear
Comrades who bled so fine
We held them at our lines, now
Only the streams run red
Silent paws pad the damp leaves,
Razor eyes gaze through the mist
Sabre claws flex with tension:
I am the hunter. Flee.
Granite walls melt and fade,
Haunted eyes hide from the light
Dirty hands crawl from the hole:
I am the prisoner. Free.
Flickers of mystery coalesce,
Contorted pictures forced into line
Wrinkled fingers drop the last block:
I am the puzzle. Complete.
Future memories flash by,
Visions reflect off of preconceptions
Mental tendrils grasp the concept:
I am the dream. Concrete.
I wish I could again be a child in the rain
When everything was clean and wet.
No dust in the air, no busy, frustrated sounds
Just the soft patter of the drops
And the hiss of cars' tires as they pass by
Going somewhere in someone else's hurry
And the gurgle of drainspouts.