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a poem by Kate Mathis
A cloud of black flora eerily haunts the men from behind.
Their faces are lit up with a white glow, champagne giving them a reason to smile, soon to be
aware of the deep specter waiting to encompass them.
The shadow began to grin with the men, observing his new victims.
He patiently waits to imprison them into a perpetual mental void where they’ll be gasping for air, while their trembling bodies are in sync with the heart's palpitations.
He patiently waits until he has the power to pull them back to the day they stormed
Omaha Beach, June 6th, 1944.
The men smiled for the world in their US Army button up shirts and ties,
Soon to enjoy a glass of champagne with cheers and laughter.
Finally being able to say they’re done,
To finally say they survived,
They take sighs of relief, unbeknowingly never being able to feel relief again.
The ink cloud venomously snickers at the men who innocently celebrate the end of war.
With each passing inhale, the poisonous veil penetrates their lungs, seeping into their veins.
He leaves behind a trail of ink that permeates the blood, leaving stains of Vantablack.
He pierces through the body where he meets the mind.
The mind struggles to cleanse itself of flashbacks, but his brutal invasions have just begun.
He pulls the mind into the void where the man relives his battles.
He doesn’t let go until the man has heard the gunshots, until he has seen the blood-stained sand, until his eyes are duller than before, and until his smile fades.
The mind desperately asks for a truce.
A menacing laugh avulsed from within his shadow, and with a vile voice he reveals the truth.
Peace doesn’t exist.
War never ends.
My Grandfather, Tom, (on right) was one of the brave soldiers that was a part of D-Day in 1944.
Poem inspired by this photograph.
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