Promised Land

Where are the bells?

Where are the voices?

Where is the crowd they swore

would be waiting here,

in the promised land,

once we dragged ourselves

over these rolling hills?

Where are the flowers,

showering down from the sky,

onto the soldiers bloodied

and spent, trudging back from a battle

raging since the dawn of time?

There is a safe haven,

they promised,

as they handed us our swords,

and our shields.

There is a place no war

can touch.

And we believed them, we did,

as we killed their enemies and

tore down their buildings

and set the fires that would one day

be replaced with flowers.

Until now, there are

no goddamned

flowers.

We fought and returned,

old and tired men,

to find that the world

we tore down was

the gate of heaven,

that the image we destroyed

was the throne of God.

And we curse ourselves

only now, as we arrive in

the promised land,

and come upon nothing

but cinder,

and ashes.

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