Triumph

Triumph

Flag raised. If it were not for the big blood stain, you could see that is was white. It was a make-shift but he didn’t give a shit anymore. He was tired. He never really wanted any of this. He hated every minute of it, but he had made his bed. The people he had killed had done nothing to him. Or his partners.

They just followed orders, and in this parts, their lives depended on it. “Shoot to kill.” Leave no enemy untouched. But whose enemy was it? His country’s probably. Ah, patriotism. He had come to realise it was a disease. He didn’t even know what he, no they were fighting for.

Now, as the shoot-out ended, bodies lay everywhere, and him, the sole survivor on his team, had no more ammunition and no back up. After-all this had just been a routine sweep before leaving for home tomorrow, with the war having been declared a triumph 2 days ago. The sheer irony made him smile. His wife and son would be waiting for him at the base tomorrow. As he thought about them he began to remove the blood stained flag they had used as a bandage when Frankie was shot in the leg 5 minutes ago then in the head as he screamed in pain. Now Frankie lay before him, limp and lifeless another casualty of war.

They had stopped shooting, but he knew they were too many to be all dead. He tied the flag to the barrel of his gun and raised it and waved, hoping they would understand the gesture. Silence. He waved it again. Nothing. They had realised what he was trying to do! Gathering his strength and using his gun as a support, he stood up. At least he might see his son one day, maybe take him to see the new Star Wars movie. He looked up.

They were standing in a line, guns at the ready, waiting for the survivor to show himself. Each of them had lost someone to the war, a war that had nothing to do with them. He could see them, standing there, a stance hardened by the throes of war. If they hadn’t shot him by now, they probably weren’t going to shoot him. He limped over the barricade and raised his hands above his head, as a sign of surrender. They watched him for a while then began to lower their weapons. He couldn’t believe it!

A sudden movement in the top floor window of the 2 storey building to his left caught his eye. It didn’t matter. The bullet hit him before he heard the gunshot. Suddenly he was falling into the blackness. Funny, what was that about the light at the end of the tunnel? The last thing he saw before the darkness consumed him was the general congratulating them on a victorious war. The sniper slowly dismantled his gun, a grim look on his face. He had never had such an easy shot, but he was glad. He pulled out the pendant on his necklace and kissed it as he watched his brother’s killer fall to the ground, in his eyes, a triumph.

 

Hearrt-break Re-biirth

 

In a moment of weakness

I let my guard down

And she took advantage of me

Advantage of a past love

One with which I couldn’t cope.

For me it was a certainty

That there would be no forgiveness

That this fairy tale

Had an unlikely anti-climax

And yet you say

Despite my doubts,

Despite my mistakes,

Despite… yourself,

You still love me,

Does that mean,

I can dare to dream

I can dare to hope

That we may bury this hatchet

That our story

May still have

A happy ending?

Hesitate

Hesitate

via Daily Prompt: Hesitate
Hesitate

You say you love me, but I hesitate  to reply that I love you back, because you don’t know love like I know it. You just like to hear someone say they love you without knowing the true meaning of love.

You say you love, but with conditions, and expectations. That is not love, but attachment and it can only result in disappointment. You say you love someone but you expect them to do something or behave in a certain way in regards to you because you love them. What happens if the expectations are not met? You end up saying things like “you broke my heart”, and “I can never love again” but you were never even in love in the first place. Just an extended infatuation.

So when I hesitate to reply “I love you too”, it’s not because I don’t love you, it’s because I don’t think love means the same thing to both of us.

 

14.2.17

14.2.17

If you love me buy me roses. It read. You read that text again and smirk. Manipulative little bitch. You take a final puff of the blunt and kill it. After some thought you go to buy the roses anyway because if you don’t you might as well not come home. And the roses come with complimentary gifts. Jewellery, lingerie maybe, you know, anything advertised in the media that because your girl likes it you should buy it for her this valentine’s. Like they give a shit. Just throwing a brother under the bus without batting an eyelid. After today they’re just going to prey on the next big occasion or holiday to cash in on. Greedy bastards. You arrive at the flower shop and it takes all you have to not puke. You hate roses, they smell like shit. These things should be left to grow in the wild. Does the rose know it’s considered the flower of love? Does it know that on a single day each year more roses are plucked and sold than probably all other days of the year combined(subject to research). And after that most people don’t touch a rose till a year later, you included. You start to curse the origins of valentine’s day when she texts to ask about the roses and “anything else”. She’s expecting a gift. “Yeah, buying them just now.” Send. Dammit. So you buy her the gift along with the roses. These millennials though, they’re quite something.

“Why is it that it’s the guys that are compelled show supposed acts of love to their girls?” You ask as you enter house. She sees you and comes running, all excited and shit. You hold back the roses and gift as you repeat the question. Her reply, a long French kiss as she grabs the roses. She remarks how the flowers have a beautiful smell as she walks to the couch completely disregarding anything you said. “Dafuq just happened?” you ask yourself, standing there, dazed, scratching your head. She is already dressed in the traditional red, that’s your cue. You don the outfit laid on the bed for you. Wow, she was actually serious about date night. All this to “celebrate love”, to celebrate a day whose origins you, and her  do not even know. You go to the sitting room and find she has set it up for the night. She liked the gift, and told you to prepare for the night of nights. She said that last year too, so you have an idea what to expect. As if reading your mind, she tells you last valentine’s was just a taste. You can’t wait for dinner to be over. You make this known to her, and she gladly obliges.

But hold your horses. Is it really worth it? It feels like you’re being short-changed… Are you? But you can’t think of that right now, long night ahead.
Talk to you tomorrow then.

I Miss You.

I Miss You.

 

Sometimes I wonder,

If you think about me,

As much as I do you

When you listen to my music,

Like I do,

When I listen to yours.

Do you miss the times we spent together?

The laughter, the sarcasm, our conversations

Do you miss… me?

It irks me that things had to end

The way they did,

I wish we would have gone on longer

That is my lamentation

It begins to rain outside, as I write this

And for a moment, it’s as if

The heavens are sharing my sorrow…

Sigh.

This is what happens

When you make assumptions;

Our egos and their selfishness.

Avoiding eye contact on the corridors

Yet our souls crave each other

You try to hide it

Your big pretty eyes give you away

Every time you walk by

I know you see it in mine, because I don’t hide it

It’s not something I want to deny

I just want us to be friends again.

I miss you.

Your pen wrote this poem, by the way.