words

to purge ourselves of that which is most troubling
we must partake of it completely,
devour every last atom of its terrible force,
succumb to the mounting war within
against the dead feeling from that masochism.

so it is then, here i am then,
fatigued by a conflict i wish only to be free of,
assault upon assault to further quell this feeling
and so it is then, here i am then,
never sleeping, racing the sun up and down.

the time here is spent drawing lines on the earth,
arrows and x’s and ways around mountains,
all in an effort to catch the enemy off guard,
to drown their forces in a howling maelstrom
of sudden defeat bearing all manner of deadly ideas.

there are no victors here, not within the broad strokes
and squall lines of this war,
there are only the maimed and idiot infantry of my heart
stranded in smoke and remote confusion,
never sleeping, never knowing, racing the sun up and down.

there is no growth here, not among the brass
and brains of this war,
there are only brief moments of passing insight
before memory removes it as if it never was
and we are left standing on the shore of these sands,
great principles lost in the muck of engagement,
great warriors with dirty faces fighting hour upon hour
to keep the soul from collapsing in on itself
and i will consume the earth and all its conflicts
before i give in to this.

-S.C. Martinez