Brazen Bull 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 ...
Flying Island is the Online Literary Journal of the Indiana Writers Center, accepting submissions from Midwest residents and those with significant ties to the Midwest.