by C. Schneider
There are many times when my eyes go empty
And I’ll find myself in the woods of Bosnia
Ducking through the ancient trunks
As the snaps of bullets clap past my ears
I remember the splinters most vividly
The sight of the bark as it split and shattered
The sound of screams and eerie quiet between
The smell of ash, the taste of iron, and the sight
Of sanguine ink rolling over green leaves.
Heralded the hero upon my return
A statue raised in my honor
A bronze likeness, my own brazen bull.
Some nights I wish I’d never left
To have my body burned reduced to dust
No soul escapes war pure and pristine.
We carry with us the soot of that horrid fight.
I am left to my one recurring dream
Standing in the forest of falling ashes
I ask the dead if honor matters
The silence is their answer.
Bio: C. Schneider is a recent graduate from Indiana University holding a bachelor’s degree in psychology. He plans to obtain a master’s degree in psychiatry.