This means war, blues versus red.
No guns, less germs,
But plenty of steel.
There will be blood, I fear.
Drip, drip, drip,
Sweat rolling from my chinny chin chin.
Knives out then in,
Fluids splashing from mountain to valleys.
The last cut breaches the darkness.
Then, the shining.
Lights surely blinding.
Tiny eyes squint in surprise.
There is stillness in the silence of the lamb,
‘til this new soul cries out.
So I, too, let bated breath out.
Quickly, skin to skin,
And heart to heart.
Time to heal Mama’s battle scar.
I rip off the armor, cross the field and the wreckage.
Was this the worst dream, I wonder,
Or my best nightmare?