”War…”
”Does this word scare you?”, he asks
I just keep staring at him.
”Yes, I’m at war.”
”Not with you, but,
with myself, you see.”
He points his finger
towards the sky.
”We’ll all end up there,
sooner or later.”
”Some sooner than others.”
As I look up to a clear blue sky
for a second,
a bullet pierces a hole in his head.
”Does this word scare you?”, he asks
I just keep staring at him.
”Yes, I’m at war.”
”Not with you, but,
with myself, you see.”
He points his finger
towards the sky.
”We’ll all end up there,
sooner or later.”
”Some sooner than others.”
As I look up to a clear blue sky
for a second,
a bullet pierces a hole in his head.
war – a one syllable word unfolds a mountain shadow
Marcus Liljedahl
