The ghosts are there
Again today
And every night
Some are walking
Others sit and watch
Looking at me
With sad empty eyes
Out of torn faces
And rent bodies
That no longer weep
That no longer moan
That no longer hate
Or condemn
Or love
But patiently wait
And watch
As the fast-mover raced
Out of the sun
Striking
Into their eternity
With abrupt destruction
And sudden death
That no longer echoes
In their silent world
Looking at my joy
Without emotion
Looking at my shame
Without compassion
Looking at my fear
Without remorse
Just watching me
Watching them
Stunned
And sickened
At him missing a leg
At him missing an arm
At him missing his head
At them opened in death
At me closed in life
At me crying and screaming
Because they are not
Never pleading
Simple to call
Vengeance out of the sky
Easy to add
Bodies to the score
Simpler still
To divide good from bad
Hard to keep them
Buried away
Harder still
Not to appease them
Never a smile
Or even a frown
Never a nod
Or even a shrug
Never a curse
Or accusing finger
Or a twinkling sparkle
Glinting off silver skin
Bursting
From their terrified eyes
Exploding
Into my heart
Forever
Twinkling
And guttering
And signaling
Their momentary end
Of pounding pulses quashed
Of excited minds quelled
Of anxious souls quieted
Everlastingly
Irrevocably
By spectral phantoms
Flashing away
From the peaceful ghosts
Haunting this Still Point
Inhabiting this enduring scene
Dwelling with me
Their executioner
Now caring more
Than I ever thought before
About their plight
As if it mattered
Mattered anymore
To my dreamland comrades
Waiting beyond suffering
Watching without judgement
For me to join their ruin
Always watching
And patiently waiting
For me to release them
To fly away
Like more silver streaks
Shimmering through the night
Glimmering out of range
Of all our yesterdays
by Viktor von Bruderkin
... who is a former Marine, a war veteran, and an amateur poet
whose work has appeared previously in this magazine.