The plain roars
Its on its way to war
Like a paper aeroplane, delicate as can be
But strong wings gliding effortlessly in the air now disturbed
Fighter jets, and fighting men
They give their worth, their blood will splatter as they shall plunder
But these planes, a dream accomplished yet not in tune with this horrific war
Men shall fall in these dreams made by men
But their sacrifice shall a thunder their names shall live on
Their story's are untold, they are bitter sweet memories trapped in Pandora's box
Maybe, when the heaven clears its path we shall wish upon a star for their torured and anguished souls
As that paper plane whooshed through the air, A determined glint
To its unshed tears, the wings glide along this unknown and selfless fate.
YOU ARE READING
Oh, How Cold And Treacherous
PoetryA short poems that I hope you all like or relate to This is a picture from google.
