War by Meshael Al Blehed

Posted on May 20, 2013 by

2


Your boots stood towering by the door.
Skyscrapers mirroring your very stature.
They explain the heaviness in your step.

I am not fully awake until the third time
a nightmare drags me from the bliss of sleep or oblivion.
But I wake to greet the sight of your boots.
With each pull of consciousness they move in-
cessantly closer to the foot
of my bed.

Beckon, coax, draw, entice.

You’re fond of walking.

You would walk straight into the first glimmer of happiness.
But would you want to walk into me?
Do you know what they call people who walk out on a war?
Cowards.
Do you know what they call people who walk out on their families?
Cowards.

I’m sorry, I glued your boots to the floor.

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Posted in: War