Home in the Sky, House in the Dirt

this is the poetry of war,
steeped in blood, hidden in the cracks of bones,
the bombs will drop,
and i will put my winter coat on and look to the sky,
wait for eclipse, my guns planted beneath my body,
the bombs they will drop,
in perfect unison they cover the sun,
and the night will love me blind,
so i cannot see, black nor white,
only speak,
the poetry of war