The sky is war.
It's beautiful only to gaze upon,
But when you join in,
You'll hear;
the crackle of thunder and of smoke-cloud dancing grenades,
the sizzling of skin and of bone-deep piercing rounds,
the stuttering of breadth and of lung-leech paralyzing masks,
the groaning of death and of bio-bomb creeping phosphorus.
If you run,
As the fear shivers and scatters your spine,
You'll stumble,
You'll fall and flail,
Splattering onto the reality that is ground.
YOU ARE READING
Poesy and Prose
PoetryContaining songs, dreams, poems, and prose, this is a collection of my inner-most ramblings. When I need to unwind, I write.
