"Teach them politics and war so their sons may study medicine and math in order to give their children a right to study painting, poetry, music and architecture..." ---John Adams
A deep scar runs halfway across my chest and halfway across my face, from brow to lip, unpretty to look at, children cringe when they see me I am stuff of their nightmares and for that I go concealed so that none may see me and fear.
I walk alone, sharing company with winds at peace with elements I am content, but I’m sad. The sadness, it sips through my hooded eyes it is a sadness from within for my physical scars are nothing compared to my scalded insides.
I am disillusioned by what I see why can’t people understand that their fellow human is a being just like them; not a thing.
I have walked through many wars carried infant from mother in a pool of red. I have walked through desolated plains with that infant, seeking to give it a home. That home I am yet to find. My eyes have dried up of tears iron clamps of not feeling closing in on my heart, internally mourning my colors have become gray as heavy as this sadness.
You will see me silhouetted in fading orange skies at twilight my clothes flowing before me. This is what I have come to be— a shadow.