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Prisoners and Parachutes
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A Scar is Born As we descend from the bomb-infested sky,
We pray to God that our broken wings will be healed enough to fly,
So we abort our precarious jet planes,
As our love for one another spontaneously burst into gray infernal flames,
And we watch each others' contaminated corpses set like the sun over the horizon...without saying "goodbye".
Call this the Cold War because our blasphemous battles reveal how dark and frigid your heart and blood really are,
Dress myself in camouflage and blend in with the bullets to conceal every emotional wound and battle scar.
When you walked all over my chest, my fragile heart exploded like a livid landmine,
There's no waving the white flag now; we've already crossed enemy lines.
My animosity was a green grenade thrown in your direction which set off prior to leaving my hand,
Running forward to only get shot in our own tracks; running away to only sink in the quintessential quicksand.
I could have sworn that the last time I saw a hawk, its tainted wings were magically replaced with a cunning blade,
Friendly fire keeps my distance from your wrath, but in the back of my mind I know that my feelings for you will never fade.
...You can play with my emotions so well, so I'm sure you could easily play this wooden flute,
The livid lies that you attack me with and I breathe in fill my lungs, leaving them otiose like a damaged parachute.
Silent screams of surrender fill the air while toxic tears fall to the floor,
Once an ally and a lover, you have now made me a prisoner of this brutal war...
As we fall to our fatalities like a bomb from up above,
We pray that Jesus will offer us His understanding and eternal love,
So we shed out of our old sinful skin,
As our new life and love are about to beautifully begin,
And we spread our delicate wings as if they were open arms and fly towards the future...like the white peace dove.
Call this my omega because this exact moment is the end of all things to come for my bruised and broken soul,
The nightmares and fears begin to take their terrible toll; take my corpse and dreams and set them at half mass on the rusty flagpole.
Stab me in the back and leave my blood to drip off of your betraying bayonet,
We can't turn the clocks back now; we missed out on our only chance on redemption and to repent.
My heart was a hand grenade that blew up after hitting its desired mark,
Retreating only to be blinded by the flames of the failed past, marching on only to vanish in the pitch dark.
I could have sworn that the last time I saw a dove, its angelic wings were painfully replaced with a switchblade knife,
Once a friend and a healer, you have now abruptly deprived me of my life.
...But we still march forward waving our white flags and playing our fatigued flutes,
Crying our ocean of tears and stitching together our ripped and torn parachutes.
Black blood fills the rivers as our hostile hands arduously knock on Heaven's heavy door,
The corrupted chains and immoral memories may have broken apart, but I'll always be just another victim of war...
…Friendly fire keeps my distance from your wrath, but my feelings for you will never fade…
