Sense of Slaughter

Below the sough of water,
Above the sounds of slaughter.

Resting in inner silence,
Thinking should I be
The man jumping the fence,
Or who shoots his knee.

Will it ever stop?
I cannot think forever
Of things I wish to drop,
Things I need to sever.

A crimson burning light,
Pulled into the now,
Only to endow,
Giving me one sight.

It happened slow and swift,
Who went dead or lived,
Put all worth in vain,
And brought not sense but pain.

That's why I went and dove,
To become them, both.

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/5e0j9e/grandmas_basement/da96rw2

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/5dywfs/untitled/da96lch