A Briefly Imagined Wartime Fantasy

You were my glowing star, this silver haze,
Sitting on the construction line, you vanished without a trace,
Temporary blindness cluttered my vision,
A short burst of quickened pulse fluttered from my heart, decorated in fiction,

The sound of surrender, the sound of sadness,
An inch of gold for the demanding,
Bombers over head, bombers in your ear,
Air raid sirens sing out in unison, the destructions coming here.

And now the house is a shell of its former self, devastated,
There is even the lingering smell of napalm in the air, decimated,
Everyone gathers round, and sifts through the ashes, collaboration,
Clinging on to what little hope is left, bathed in trepidation.

Sing for this and sing for that, a lyric to put food on the table,
Your breath is like cyanide in the air to the upper classes,
Still you plough on, uttering the classics,
Satisfaction for those who look down upon us, satisfaction for the masses.

Gunfire, hardwired, bullets zing past your head,
A small cut, a flesh wound, you release another breath,
Timeless, so priceless, you cut your cord to the room,
And sit up to realise, the entire thing was a dream, a conception crafted womb.