Half Way

Half Way


Rolling and rummaging, the village burns incandescently through the night like a bulb of hate.
Nobody whispers around here anymore, the silence of the dark night is the only thing you can hear through the breath of wind occasionally grazing the hairs on your arms.
“I’m no monster” he says, the cars below his balcony glitter in the artificial sunrise of the fire.
Maybe in a lifetime we’ll see a resolve but maybe in a moratorium we’ll see the dead?
Dead men, women and families line the streets here. Eight inches away from them is a parking violation they say. The faces of the broken and the hearts of apathy breed like locusts in my village, the slums we reside in are the only hopes of finding a better way.
I guess you could call my heart strange, how it beats for them, how it breaks and skips when peace comes within terms. I lather myself in the disappointment of my fellow citizens. I despise the idea of being safe. Maybe it’s my fantasy to live in a fictional hell, maybe I like the smell of the hair burning, slithering into my room like a vagrant cigarette.
What have we done to this place? It seems that we forgot who we really are? Are we the patriots we claimed to be?
“I’m no monster” he says, the cars below him still glistening, portraying the artistic destiny that Nostradamus always called for.
Annihilation, it tastes good when you say it, it tastes like General Lemay’s cigars and fine whiskey.
Over crisp candlelight we’ll eat tonight, in our own dwellings, the 3 walls that house us. Only a northern wind can be felt here, it’s cold and biting when you realize that you’re not home anymore.
Only miles to hell now, we passed half-way a long time ago, lets regale in our sorrows my fellow citizens.

-Stefan David Jeffery Oberg