I see the faces flash across my eyes, young faces, smiling faces. Their eyes have dreams and hopes for the future, but not now my friend.
They are casualties in a war that does not exist, a turf war, in which neither side wins anything. Victims of a wrong sign or color, they are dropped, left cold and dead on the street. Left to be a statistic, like all their friends.
Behind each statistic I see two eyes, one family, dozens of friends and one future all lost. All destroyed. Destroyed by the selfish need for love, love at all costs, by any means necessary. The love, too, does not exist. There is not honor among thieves or love among murderers. Only hate, hate disguised as love.
The numbers and bodies continue to pile up, destroying all they held dear. The war does not exist, but the casualties are countless, the war does not exist, but the bullets are flying.
This is not about money or land, this is about love and acceptance, the foolish need to find them and the horrid ways thereof.
Maybe in death these soldiers, these tortured soldiers, will find their love. Maybe in death, but I don't see it happening any other way.
It was once said, "to sleep, perchance to dream". Dream again tortured soldier, invisible warriors, condemned souls, dream again, in death, I shall see you, in death you shall stay.