Returned from a long journey have I
From a place that a novel might inspire
To take you far from your everyday
 

Of tales to tell and awe to inspire
Of a world where ruffled tat tat tat boom
Sporadic music behind the quiet depth
Of a silence that brings chills
And you know that something will happen

As idly you sit by and watch the spring come from afar
Yet you are cold still 
In the middle of winter
Where stood upon a damp balcony you watch
As soldiers warm on the street corner
To a makeshift burning barrel of logs and garbage and the like
Their pale green uniforms reflect images of nothing
Not even sweat as they stomp
They can't be bothered 

Looking out for the hunter that prowls the night

Tracer bullets red in the black sky over the city
As the fear hits like it does
Clear
Fragile
To distinguish itself 
From whatever else illusion might have prevailed
It lays claim and begins to infest
Apartments and doorways and street ways
And distant mountain homes
Where naught else but the still moon bares witness
As even the gushing endless rain
Is unable to wash it clean

War is coming and knowingly so
They stuggle to pretend not
But so overbearing its anticipation
So resigned to its inevitable offerings
That no one can rush
While the terror slowly begins
Metamorphose for all but those
Scheming and planning
And organizing themselves
Into its deliverers