ODE TO G.I JOE

Hark, silence is the music of madness
Played on a lyre tuned to evoke tinnitus,

To taste; feel and see all too clearly
As if today, recollections of a not so distant yesterday
One that reeks of sulphur and of pain
A deafening rythm plays, claims and stays.

It's cold and dreary,
The walls have come to swallow the floor
A floor that suddenly looks familiar

Boots and dogtags
Booze, buzzcuts and a silence for comrades
Blue is the hue
Of a Silence I Rue