My Army Hat

I hear nothing in the real world.
I hear the wind blowing, against the gum tree leaves.
I see all the dead ANZAC’S souls gather around me and my army hat.

I taste people’s blood all strange in the air, it taste like red poppies.

I smell smoke from the killing monsters.
It’s like dust but when you touch it, it faints.

My hat makes my imagination seen real to me because it’s my Talismanic Object. It is white and grey. It is round, it maybe grey but it is apart, of my imagination.