At Its Worst

At Its Worst
By Isaac

The jeans shop is warm.
Sometimes, not worth it. But dropping the denim
To spend the remaining daylight hours dancing with my companions
This is where I’m from.

Then again, I am from that one dark, moonless night,
when someone, and no one took me and taught me how to slaughter.
Standing in line with others
To kill
my race, my age,
my religion,
even my home town was shared by many
we were not worth our money: free.
We were the walking dead.

Still I have nightmares about it
about his face.
“Please brother, I am from peace.” He said
Still, knowing the consequences of not doing so,
I pulled the trigger at point blank range

His face exploded in color
Yet…
Somehow, his expression was blank
The words fresh on his lips
Echoed through the shadowed canyon
Of my once clear conscience
“Please brother, I am from peace”
This is where I’m from

That was past, this is present
I flee.
I flee when the moon shines brighter
and the stars shine brightest
“lets split”

I am at a refugee camp living with others
But still, alone.
Like the loneliness is a disease
Spreading,
it would sweep the nation,
The globe!
If not for the prison walls of this refugee camp

I too, brother am from peace.