When the tendrils of another place
Land and scathe their nails against the core
Of worlds thought to be perfect
By madmen who swore
That this is the best there is
And there is no defect in the principles of war
When you send your sons
Against the rage of crippled women
Who will scream for their own
And both will be swollen
By fear and violence branded to their chest
A cavity is placed there encased
With honor for the lives they've taken
Rewarded with a blood-crusted crest
The praise that follows will anoint and revive them
But they will not be debased
The truth of the matter converts their peace
Into the mud that their soldier boots slid upon
Within the calvary's bullet crease
YOU ARE READING
POEMS and other collections
PoetryA collection of poems. I'm mainly inspired by Edgar Allan Poe, specifically his poem, "The Raven" at the moment.
