The Day I Don’t Talk About

A dream-state; Some hypnotic trance
Cast upon me whereas everything now
Has just turn’t stale. Emotion turns off.
Your life is my nightmare.

Amid eerie silence the women wail and howl,
Crying inconsolably for the dead
Sons and daughters that to them
Were their whole lives. So innocent.

They scream bloody hell, gnash teeth
And claw at their faces, tearing them,
Slapping their palms on their cheeks,
Spreading the blood – Bereft.

Amid the smoke and rubble now are
Baby-doll parts. A schoolyard bully
Who snatched her dollie and ripped
It in two. Or three, or more. Wax figures.

Baby-doll parts is all that I see
I tell myself. Just baby-doll parts
As my skin grows cold with sweat
Despite the days intense heat. A bad dream.

The dead cry intensely; I have heard them.

Mentally blocked, never happened – Understand me?

About anotherwarriorpoet

Mathew Bocian served as a Captain in the United States Army with the Stryker Brigade and was deployed to Mosul and Tal'Afar in 2004 - 2005, and to Baghdad for The Surge in 2007 - 2008. He left the Army in 2012 and now uses his poetry as a way to heal from the traumas of war, while attempting to express to readers the realities of war. He is the recipient of the Bronze Star and Purple Heart, and holds a master's from the Graduate School for Public and International Affairs at the University of Pittsburgh.
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