In a dream the guns came out
drowning out the voice of reason
unheard the cries of little children
no one cared who fired first.
One side killing all the godless
the other killing all the priests
both were hunting reason’s voices
the middle ground a no-man’s land.
No longer could we hear each other
above the roaring of the guns
listening only to our comrades
true believers in the cause.
And when I saw a little boy
eye his mother as he died
I knew that with him died the nation
my country would exist no more.
In my dream I took a brush
although I knew I could not paint
and on a shattered building’s wall
emerged America’s Guernica.