What is War

From the newly pawned solider the weary veteran, the struggle rages on.

From the lead covered copper raining from the smoky plains beyond.

Both hands soft and course, shaky and steady, raised gun hesitant and hollow knowing full well of the agony brought with sorrow.

From the thick mist and clouds seemingly consumed the land, a mixture of gas, dust and blood of man.

From the look of fear, not hate from our enemies’ eyes.

To the terrible shrieks and screams of a man’s dying cry.

To the shadow of hell from the cotton bag above.

To our leather hands covered with unknown blood.

The fire rages on, tides turn, a seemingly never-ending race.

In fear of a whistle and hearing no more. A fear of being replaced.

To the cries of joy mixed with terror not one quite can capture.

To this war of worlds, this great war, this rapture.