A Found Poem-words from Tim O'Brien's "The Things They Carried"

War is beauty.

The majesty of combat fills the eye.

Impassive moons, rockets red glare.

Harmonies of sound, troops in symmetry.

It commands you.

Proximity to death 

knows proximity to life. 

You tremble.

You are intense.

You are aware of your skin. 

The colors on the river.

The setting sun.

Love aches to be felt

and even if you can't, 

you know, 

it's there.

A look of innocence,

reminiscent of the past.

Those green mountains to the west

feel scary even though 

you don't touch them. 

There's a safety in that. 

There's beauty in war.