War Music

What is that sound? The suctioning of lips in kisses And whimpers of youth, Tears splashing against feminine cheeks. Groans of sorrow, Culminating in a smash of flesh, Ends with the silent chaffing of skin As heels clang like cymbals, Fading to silence, Encompassed by a humming tube, Screeching wheels snuffed by whooshing air and ripping paper. Baritones sound tentatively, Cutting into the silence like a knife. Tenors and basses joined shortly after, Joined finally by sopranos and altos. Hours of harmonies and whooshing air and humming metal ends in screeching. What once was cymbals became a soft tympani of shuffles Drumming against the ground. Then, BOOM! A band of bass drums and trumpets and slide whistles sound without warning, Led by an unseen conductor with an exploding baton. Ominous minor chords crescendo, Filling the air with whistles, The ground explodes, Triggered by the tympani of footfalls and small metal that also tears, Tears flesh, muscle, and embeds with a clunk in the bone. The baritones and basses are no longer baritones and bases – Only the higher register is sounding, A fortissimo of voices. A silent exchange of light and dark races across the sky As the symphony continues with stacattoed explosions and lyrics of “Mine!” “Bomber!” “Flank!” “Lieutenant!” “Shot!” Then the symphony mellows. No whistling, no explosions, No trumpets, no drums, And no tympani. Only whimpers and whispered orders Accompanied by the drip, drip, drip of youthful souls. The symphony ends with the ding-dong of a doorbell And tears splashing against the hardwood floor. This is the music of war.