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War.War.War. by ~LordGaryProductions
It has the power
to pull apart the human psyche
as though it were nothing more than a
children’s jigsaw puzzle.
Its screams are the sound of shells
splitting the cold night sky;
the blood of dead men
falls down upon the living
like crimson rain.
But war cannot last forever.
Soon it grows bored,
(it is years for us)
bored of its games
(death blood pain tears flesh)
and throws the pieces down
carelessly, callously. Cruelly.
And it is up to us,
we children,
to try and slot the pieces
back together
with bloodied, beaten, battle-scarred hands.
How many men have those hands killed?
Some of the pieces are chipped.
Worn. Frayed. Torn.
Sta.sh
