The battle lines are irrecoverably drawn.
Insanely we march,
to a drum beating anger and unforgiveness.
The bloodshed begins.
wounds once cauterized
fill with fresh blood,
and travel across the faces of the youth.
In the havoc of this crusade,
kindred faces twist in hostility.
Mother against child,
brother against sister.
Round after round,
to the bitter beat.
As wife whispers to husband
and Aunt comforts nephew
"I will fight for you"
Comments
1 - 6 of 6
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So did you you win this war? I hope the outcome was favorable. You do this sort of theme well, I think. I understand the pain of war. Not a good place to find ones self...
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Ah, Family.
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love it
I hate christmas and this is what I experience every year. Thanks for the thoughts and words. oh by the way brilliantly written!
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The only thing I don't hold to is the EvenStarsFade. It's too much of a 957 to be labelled anything else. You are the master, mistress of the conflict metaphor. I do hope it's not from practice. ---- Thank you (twice).
(Don't dare change one word - it's perfection)
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ooh Wattle, its totally from practice! LOL You are a great friend, thanks for always reading
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This piece can go down personal, actual conflict, or completely universal. I love it! Poets who leave the reader with something to think about, and sate the pallet with concerns about the world, the writer's life and intentions, plus the readers own personal dilemnas. Bravo! Great penning. So many writers just spill everything they are thinking in a fashion that gives reader no choices or chance encounters to find on their own. You get thumbs up from me on this one. RC
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