the constant battle

The Constant Battle

Dawn, the silence is a dying breath here in
the village on the grassland, stealthily in
the night they had taken their cattle, dogs
and mules and headed for the hills, there
is no defends against helicopter gunships;
I hear them now, a swarm of bees from hell.

But as the bullets hit red roofs sun light rose
over the mountain and sent rays of energy
on the silvery death machines and singed
them out of the air, once again a new day
had begun; relieved villagers returned as life’s
echo rippled through the meadowland.