Behind The Curtain
A fantasy of a perfectly peaceful planet
Is dreamt in the minds of most.
Imagining a utopia
of abundance and elegance,
A world filled with amiable and personable people.
But the absence of peace fills our minds.
Ragged bloodied soldiers and snapping weapons.
It summons us to our death,
to our final breath.
Relentlessly,
that which hides behind the curtain.
It is death, we sit, awaiting it.
Like the birds in the spring, always returning.
It is the flood that consumes land with ease.
It’s the trump card, overruling all other power.
It is as unavoidable and inescapable as the changing of seasons.
It induces our pain.
A smirk smeared sloppily
across its face,
Boasting pure victory,
Destroying and demolishing, us.
And it remains invisible behind
The iron curtain of media.
Refusing to be damaged.
Disguising
The fate of a single bullet
And that which hides behind the curtain.
It is like a natural disaster, invincible.
It is the spark that ignites fires, demolishing a precious town.
Like a lion hunting for prey, unavoidable.
It is death, we sit, awaiting it.
It is like a hurricane, pummeling the coast, engulfing cities.
That which hides behind the curtain
That which is killing, death,
and ferocious mental health conditions,
Is deemed patriotic because we are
fighting “for our country?”
I am not fighting for my country.
I fight for my life.
Every Day. Every Second. Every Breath.
I fight against
The fate of a single bullet.
Because how can we give one object so much power?
The power to draw blood and tears,
To wrench bodies and families apart?
These are the questions that are never asked.
How can we ignore our brains and souls and instincts
And pull the trigger anyways?
Releasing the bullet that dances through the air
and tears through memories, laughter, happiness, and love,
Leaving only rotting flesh and splintered bones?
These are the questions that are never asked
To that which hides behind the curtain.
It is like the sun, returning consistently everyday without fail.
Like all involuntary muscles, relentless.
It is death, we sit, awaiting it.
It will always destroy.
But hope lies in our minds.
We are the relief system.
Pulling victims from the killing waters.
Like superheroes that rescue civilians.
Like doctors performing emergency surgeries.
As defiant as Rosa Parks
We work toward the ultimate goal.
We work to defy
That which hides behind the curtain.
We work to tear down the curtain, revealing,
The tattered bodies draped with spoiled rags
Drowning in their pungent blood and
their mother’s tears.
Forever trapped behind the curtain,
Confined with our worst enemy.
Which lies within
Ourselves.
Is dreamt in the minds of most.
Imagining a utopia
of abundance and elegance,
A world filled with amiable and personable people.
But the absence of peace fills our minds.
Ragged bloodied soldiers and snapping weapons.
It summons us to our death,
to our final breath.
Relentlessly,
that which hides behind the curtain.
It is death, we sit, awaiting it.
Like the birds in the spring, always returning.
It is the flood that consumes land with ease.
It’s the trump card, overruling all other power.
It is as unavoidable and inescapable as the changing of seasons.
It induces our pain.
A smirk smeared sloppily
across its face,
Boasting pure victory,
Destroying and demolishing, us.
And it remains invisible behind
The iron curtain of media.
Refusing to be damaged.
Disguising
The fate of a single bullet
And that which hides behind the curtain.
It is like a natural disaster, invincible.
It is the spark that ignites fires, demolishing a precious town.
Like a lion hunting for prey, unavoidable.
It is death, we sit, awaiting it.
It is like a hurricane, pummeling the coast, engulfing cities.
That which hides behind the curtain
That which is killing, death,
and ferocious mental health conditions,
Is deemed patriotic because we are
fighting “for our country?”
I am not fighting for my country.
I fight for my life.
Every Day. Every Second. Every Breath.
I fight against
The fate of a single bullet.
Because how can we give one object so much power?
The power to draw blood and tears,
To wrench bodies and families apart?
These are the questions that are never asked.
How can we ignore our brains and souls and instincts
And pull the trigger anyways?
Releasing the bullet that dances through the air
and tears through memories, laughter, happiness, and love,
Leaving only rotting flesh and splintered bones?
These are the questions that are never asked
To that which hides behind the curtain.
It is like the sun, returning consistently everyday without fail.
Like all involuntary muscles, relentless.
It is death, we sit, awaiting it.
It will always destroy.
But hope lies in our minds.
We are the relief system.
Pulling victims from the killing waters.
Like superheroes that rescue civilians.
Like doctors performing emergency surgeries.
As defiant as Rosa Parks
We work toward the ultimate goal.
We work to defy
That which hides behind the curtain.
We work to tear down the curtain, revealing,
The tattered bodies draped with spoiled rags
Drowning in their pungent blood and
their mother’s tears.
Forever trapped behind the curtain,
Confined with our worst enemy.
Which lies within
Ourselves.