Resurrection

Battlefields with white tattered flags

appear with the sunrise,

their emaciated enemies are mummified,

weaponless and mute,

but their bugles sounds in the air

they play taps and a cavalry charge

though I cringe and vomit

none ever arrive to butcher

with other than fear.

 

Can’t stop bleeding

from the slaughter that never took place

because I surrender

and was decapitated of my worth,

heart impaled on a saber

drained of its pulse,

still I feel and suffer the defeat

in an endless array of marching memories

that resurrected the villainous cadavers.

from that tomb in my head.

 

It’s so hard to claim a truce

when the slain always still take you prisoner

who set you before a firing squad,

left executed countless times a day.