All day long, it's always the same.
Creating unblemished weapons,
For them no one but us to blame.
Do they know the wreck they'll wreak?
Those symbols of human failure,
So many dead within a week.
For this, we have a price to pay,
Forging the servants of evil.
And yet, we all refuse to say.
Oh, those infernal devices,
The ammunition of vengeance,
Mortal instruments too precise.
Stripped of all their moral choices,
Unlike the guilty hand in charge.
My head's full of vexing voices,
But I prepare to continue,
Bearing my all too human heart,
Loading certain death within you.
YOU ARE READING
The innocence of weapons
PoetryWar poetry- a women working in a munitions factory. I'm not sure if poetry is a thing on here, (I'm still very new to this) but it was something I wrote in a rush for armistice day, but still liked. I wanted to write something about war that was no...
