Armageddon’s Home

Never thought I’d come home
to a war.
Cold, raging war.
One laced with silent stares.
Pretending that everyone cares.
One where words fired like bullets,
and you never lived life to the fullest.

Armageddon was home.
It never left.
Martyrs lived.
Watched games, made lunch.
Some, made a list of groceries.
Others, buried their miseries.
Deep down in the basement
of their lifeless hearts.
Where they imprisoned,
all their desires –
to speak, smile, and cry.

They were P.O.W. with no P.O.V.
Dragons in the dungeon,
waiting to breathe
fire.
And burn the world
that didn’t see them
turn into ash.
This wasn’t just a war within.
This was Armageddon
brewed in cold-blood,
at home
sweet home.