war: An incurable disease

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
A disastrous feeling of uncertainty your gun suddenly becomes your God because he is in control of your life.

Submitted: September 26, 2018

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Submitted: September 26, 2018

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Nature drinks the blood of fallen heroes as they lay on the ground awaiting their end as liquid rushes out of their system like a tap whoose control is faulty.

The war grows fiercely has the ground has been laced with mines; fools tread on that path without caution and boom the journey to the after life starts if there is one.

War brings peace that's what the insane thinks but the truth is that the sacrifice will be in vain because a melagomanian will wake up one day and say the world is in ruin and it needs to be fixed and the cycle will repeat itself.

Nature cries like a woman about to deliver when she sees us destroying the little she has given to us although she tries to avert it but we are obstinate and we have grown deaf to her appeals.

Men paint their faces in blacks to camouflage; as their lives aren't theirs anymore but it has been given to the weapons which are now their gods as they pray that it takes a life before theirs is snatched away.

As if that's not enough they might be successful but be disavowed or killed by the same people who asked that they sacrifice their lives to prevent external control or for a wrong cause; the system is damned.

Their loved ones waiting and wishing that they come home alive but deep down they know they're on the hot seat and it's a 50-50 chance they will survive.

Days passed and a knock is heard and a stranger comes neatly dressed in a neat sparkling car giving the bull shit crap about how they're sorry and he fought brave ;giving them the remainants of his body which they can hardly recognize and the weeping starts and a zoom off is heard and a cheap compensation and some gunshots in the air to celebrate them.

When shall we learn from this unnecessary war and stop painting the ground and forests with crimson? When shall we learn how to love and rule with dignity and forge brighter days ahead like our father's.


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