Poem: Rebirth


April is National Poetry Month.  Here's my contribution.

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Tattered clothes blow in the breeze
Created by passing missiles
Fumes follow, poisonous and slow,
Seeping into the air like a hungry cobra

The clothes surround an old man
Body gaunt, heavily scarred
Close to skeletal
Eyes covered in white film
Hands gnarled from holding
Too many bows
Too many spears
Too many swords
Too many guns

Faltering, almost feeble
the man stumbles around
Almost blind,
Almost deaf

until the missiles hit

Echoing off the abandoned buildings
The boom shatters windows
hurts eardrums on everyone
Except the man

He stands up straighter,
his stumble becomes a walk

Now, gunfire sounds in the distance,
screams as women and children run to escape

The white covering his irises falls away
revealing pale blue eyes of a predator

The violence closes in on him,
stray bullets playing hide and seek
among the rubble and the homeless

A spray of blood from someone the bullets found
Bathes the man
Muscles grow in the skeleton as scars smooth away
Shadows replace the tattered clothes,
Dressing the man in almost black
The perfect camouflage

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