Heavy Triggers, Little Fingers

Heavy triggers, pulled by little fingers,

Wherever they sound, death always lingers,

The deaths of innocence, and of childhood,

Tiny killers stand, where tiny children stood.

 

Stolen from loving homes, and sold to war,

Welcomed to a warlord’s little bandit corps,

Branded with bruises, and offered ‘glory’,

Their broken bodies, tell a different story.

 

Marked with scars, that will never heal,

Torture and blood, their daily meal,

Abuse soon fractures into violent rages,

broken little birds, in cruel little cages.

 

Heavy triggers, pulled by little fingers,

Wherever they sound, death always lingers,

The deaths of innocence, and of childhood,

 Kids should never stand, where soldiers should. 

This poem is about: 
Our world

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