War to Heal

I had a dream that night

And I never screamed. 

I have a battlefield of yours. 

The same God made that fine

Just the way he made this world of mine. 

It's quite different yet identical. 

My world kill birds,

Yours kill minds. 

The graves are small and narrow. 

Out of unkind

I have daffodils yellow, and I grow them to fine

That world has red, and more of red wine.

All the killings I have are the feelings to you, blind

Unlike the world that shreds the red of mankind. 

I have a soldier, without heroics. 

He belongs to the world I call mine. 

But serves the battlefield of red wine. 

He's there to heal the wounds of the man

And the bird. 

They say he lacks the gut

To fight back the herd. 

My soldier knows it's not the guns that make life

My soldier knows they have childrens and  wife

My soldier is there to heal the wounds

To let the wounded strive

My soldier lives to close those holes

To give them life. 

I have a soldier who is not a hero. 

Each step to war, he thinks of his loved ones

He encores the pain and summons

"In peace, sons bury their fathers

In war, father bury their sons. "