War Torn

 

Shadows veil the ground like giant birds

whisking through the sky while the ground explodes.

Deadly, bio-hazard hued feces drop from their tails

as they battle other birds in this vicious highway.

Fallen foes counted as points in this fatal game-

children fall

 

complacent to the grim environment.

If they return: do they cope with the scars?

Do they see the scars their scars leave?

Holes left by feces, are used as shelter

by those lost in the final sleep

war-torn soil does not make pleasant bed sheets.

This poem is about: 
Our world

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