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