Indignities of war

Now the music sounds better without you.
The sound of rust and avoidance.
A pin of change, held in thy hand.
Explosions in their eyes, are merely the dying stars of hope.
As they drop bombs on everything you see.
All that once glittered was sold.
Packaged and peeled like your skin on the cross.
And we taste the regret each day.
And we forget each pain and stay,
locked in world of static.
Explaining each miracle away.
It once felt like home.
Until the sands rose and the waters melted.
And we looked once more in the back of our skulls.
Picking away at you on the roof of our mouths.
The tourniquets we place over the lands tear.
The crumble and crack of reason.
The pain is the only thing we’re happy to hear.
As we martyr those who walk your walk.
And silence those, with that familiar talk.
Of love.