The Question of Enemies

What I came to love as fantasy
Has become my worse enemy.
And the beautiful prose,
Of “O say can you see”
Has become my secret enemy.
And streets laden with casings,
And unfamiliar faces,
Keeps me in paces.
And dust covered notecards,
With scribbled verses,
Breathes solacing praises.
For love of country,
And love of life,
Struggles between a paradoxical blend,
Of loyalty and resistance,
Of honor and resentment,
Of vengeance and contentment.
And who are my enemies
That are faceless?
In a desert?
A sea?
A jungle unbeknownst to me?
Or will it be when mendacious leaders,
Make that choice for me?
Now streets are filled,
With armor from battlefields.
And war has come to us,
In form of protection.
Will the day come,
When they bind us for our objection?

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