IT’S A BEAUTIFUL DAY

Dusty places,
rotor wash.
Burnt faces,
doesn’t wash.

Bodies ripped in pieces,
no shoes appear.
Age no difference,
deaths been here.

Fly into the mountain,
smash into the ground;
Fire like a fountain,
cooks off a round.

Hot LZ
or just jungle greens:
lucky if you’re dead;
can’t hear the screams.

First on scene,
God what a mess;
used to be a bird,
friends gone, God bless.

Blackened earth,
blackened soul;
blackened bodies,
when you find them.

You see them still,
no eyes closed.
No need to dream,
no eyes closed.

Hear your own screams,
mixed with others.
No eye closed,
it’s no dream.

©Copyright April 28, 2008 by Fred Alvis