It is the end of a bleak winter day.
I am running down the stairs,
quickly and excitedly,
with my neighbours following me.
We all want to see Mars.
He has just crashed down in the front yard.
I saw him coming down,
like a juicy pomegranate,
leaving a bright scarlet streak
upon the pink sunset.
There he lies,
crushing the fence on which he fell,
oozing sticky, red fluid
upon the snow.
A regiment of generals
march around him
in strict formation,
saluting smartly,
paying final respects to
their fallen Commander-in-Chief.
I approach angrily,
filled with hate
for all the wars,
all the misery
he has brought upon the world.
Even though he is
in his death throes,
I feel no pity for him.
The smashed fence
upsets me not at all;
with the Master of Wars defeated,
no man will need to
protect himself from another
ever again
and eternal peace
shall reign upon the Earth.
I recall clearly
a deep sense of vindication
coming over me,
for my belief
(despite all evidence to the contrary)
in the ultimate goodness of the Universe
had been confirmed.
