Shells and scraps of metal in my comrades, the blood of those who once grew fields and crops, now have painted the grass with red. Not ready men but boys.
With Fields and lawns of blood that stretch as far as i could ever see, I stared at the gun pointed at my head, right between my eyes. Dead i soon could be.
I then looked at my brothers and my sisters as they were gunned down, one by one...from bullets to bayonets of those who only want torture for the ones who lived happy lives. Not the ones with guns, but the ones with the button.
I watched them and I prayed, slowly falling from above, a whistling tune. The sound of the war between me and them coming to its end. Yet the starters of it all are no where to be found.
The war isn't over but this battle soon will be, the whistling building up and getting louder, i close my eyes as i feel the barrel press closer to my head and the gun being cocked. I once lived a happy life, now i'll die knowing that they won't have one.
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Aspects Of War
PoetryWar doesnt just have to be about the bullets and guns, it can be everything in between, the factory workers that built the ships. The farmers who grew the crops and their fight for balance and survival. The war between Man and Man, Humankind and Mac...
