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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic

Submitted: April 20, 2017

A A A | A A A

Submitted: April 20, 2017



 what hell
 why is it so cold?
 why so much blood,?
 why is there so much blood?
 my brothers in arms limbs lay strewn over this snow covered battlefield.

The snow is no longer white, instead it runs red with my units blood.
 I sit waiting for the next wave of enemies with one eye on my scope and the other clutching my crucifix praying that today isn't the day i meet my maker. 
This war.
 what are we actually fighting for? 
It’s already taken so much.
 How many more have to die?
How more tears have to be cried?
I’m sick of seeing the light fade from my units eyes
As they lie waiting, to die 

The ground looks like a meteor shower has pitted the ground 
There’s large holes all around  from where those last mortars landed 
And scorched the earth 
I look forward to the rebirth when the holes fill once again 
And greenery once again grows amongst the shards of shrapnel 
That same shrapnel once brought us to our knees 
Now it’s a decorative trait and lives amongst the feral landscapes 
Only making itself known when it catches the light from the sun 
Otherwise it stays dull, tinged with the crimson reminder of what it was designed
For WAR!
A weapon designed to mame 
To cause pain 
To destroy 
Instil fear 
Cause tears 
Scramble the brain 
Yes it might sound insane, but we are to blame 
It’s a person like you and I that uses his brain 
In a shameful way 
Or does he 
At the end of the day 
Are we supposed to throw sticks and stones at tanks?
That would prove counter productive, 
Or should we shoot planes out of the sky with a catapult and a rock 
While he shouts chocks away dropping his seeds of destruction 
I think not 
We have to use what we have got 
We have to fight fire with fire 
Otherwise we cease to exist 
Just puffs of red mist  

© Copyright 2018 J A OVERTON. All rights reserved.

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