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| Welcome ! | Home · FAQ · Topics · Web Links · Your Account · Submit Poetry · Top 30 · OldSite Link | 03-June 07:18:39 AEST | ||
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Array
(
[sid] => 14998
[catid] => 1
[aid] => Mick
[title] => Crimson Battlefields
[time] => 2003-03-27 07:05:00
[hometext] =>
[bodytext] => The Diary of Isabelle Christina
Entry: Crimson Battlefields Time: 2:30Am Place: No-mans land He placed his bloody fingers upon my face, moved them down my neck and came to my breast…making glistening tracks of blood along the way…I watched in silence, till he placed his hands upon my heart…there was sickly smile on his face, and the innocence and charming insouciance of infancy…Until his pupils dilated and it was as if his eyes were sinking into his face…he started to beat my chest with a strange animalistic passion and revulsion…as if he intended to tear my heart out, I couldn’t breath any more so I pushed him away…. He howled, lost his balance and fell upon a mound of dead, desiccated bodies… I couldn’t tell if they were male or female, the skin and flesh were maggot infested now…and the stench, Oh God the stench! It was death and the burden of man’s malevolence speaking from every corner of the earth…this was the center of hell …the sky was a bloody shade of red, the ground beneath my feet, as if laden with ferrous oxide… The child stood up straight…he looked at me…and then he took my hand…the hot wind slapped my forehead like rude, boorish waves…like unwanted intimacy…with every step my soul was violated…but that child…he couldn’t stop smiling…it was as he was mocking me and my entire existence, my system of beliefs and my complexes…I came to a broken house, watched though the window, and I could see some silhouettes , some lost ghosts from a shattered past, it was like a pantomime of a happy family having dinner, the clock on the wall struck 8:30 pm…and then I could see them scurrying through the house, seeking a safe place, as the sirens blasted through mid-air… but it was as if all of them knew in their hearts of hearts that this was the end . I could see him! It was his family…I was taken over with incredulity and a strange sorrow, I looked at the child, I didn’t have the courage to cry…as I knelt down to hold him near, he looked me in the ye and then…slapped me hard across my face…. ‘WHO IS GOING TO CRY CHECK MATE NOW!!!!…All the pawns are dead LONG LIVE THE KINGS!!!!!…HAIL O QUEEN!!!! Tell me Isabelle! Who is it going to be…who wins this bloody game…you or them at the top? I have nothing any more…nothing is what I shall treasure for years to come; this blood is the only mark that I have, the mark that was given to me by kings and queens that rule our minds, our souls…great kings who were too timid, too cowardly and too little to come and fight their battle themselves, Those COWARDS sent some one just like us to fight against us, they sent a father to kill a father, what do you see on this battle ground Isabelle?...do you see an infantry carrying a score board? Do you see ecstatic faces that spell out ‘WE WON’…can a war really be won…can it? What have you done for us losers Isabelle…watched us? From under your warm fuzzy blanket on the idiot box where every view is customized by biased networks, where they fear to show you how the soldier who killed a mother felt, how the man who dropped a bomb on a town later killed himself with a gun, They don’t want you to know how a soldier was scalped and buried alive by angry citizens, the soldier who had a six month pregnant wife at home, this is the war THEY DON’T WANT YOU TO SEE!!!…They will show you the glamorized version of war…where the kings who induce and instigate the terror will sit right on top and watch… monarchs playing god from time to time, what is veto? What is super power? And if this power lies in the hands of men, who is God…is HE there, does He see me Isabelle?…is there no man brave enough amongst all of us that shall step in to fight his own war, his own battle, I DID NOT DECIDE THIS WAR!, I have no role, I’m a bloody silent spectator…LOOK CLOSELY, watch this land, it is drenched in the blood of soldiers, and men who just played along the chess game, the pawns are dead…is there more to the power of politics and the politics of power? Each of these monarchs is waiting to earn over the remains of war, some publicity, medals of Honor to all…sincerity…bravery to thy nation, life for my country…WHY??? Because THEY, these KINGS decided so? Go and test their sincerity and let them endure the tribulation a soul has to suffer at hands of ignorance and blind fury…ask them to step onto the battle grounds, to fight like men of honor, not masking behind the curtains of technology but with swords…mark my words Isabelle…then, there shall be no more war’ He was quiet, perhaps they were his last words to any one, any more, and then inertia…of the mind, body and soul possessed him. He walked by the rotten carcasses into the darkness that separated conformity from self-reliance. I almost felt like I was airborne…that was the limit of my apathy and disassociation from the present. I turned back to walk in some direction, looking around, knowing why they called this No mans land, they were either in denial or believed that no man was capable of such atrocity and barbarism against the rest of man-kind. Everything came to a halt, there was this unearthly silence… life had stopped…and time had no voice as history was a helpless spectator watching the shadows of a severe remembrance slash blithe reveries into half…and I thought to my self…well some other day some other time [comments] => 4 [counter] => 236 [topic] => 43 [informant] => Euphoria [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 0 [ratings] => 0 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => oops )
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