I am a man of peace

so why do I feel the urge

in my dreams

to swing my arm apace

as if I held sword or mace

I scent a whiff of gunsmoke

there was an echo of thunder

a tremor of distant bombs

faint flashes behind the eyes

in my dreams I command

astride a steed my knees tense

a thump in my chest-falling

I awake in a sweat

All is quiet are they all dead

I rise and face the mirror

for a moment there seen

a bearded face and helm

I make some tea and write

were battles fought long ago

maybe on other worlds

perhaps in other times

by my other selves?

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