Torn limbs
blown to hell when the cannons ring
shown the meaning of everything
bloodletting on dead lands
sun setting where the undead stand
was this part of their master plan
does oil run red through guilty hands
Something in the way the sun coats the ground
bleaches in bloody tones,
beaches littered with old bones
where once we stood united
now the towels have been thrown
red like the fields of poppies that grow
Herded through like cattle to slaughter
young souls on a march through hells backwaters
a war fought in dishonour
to stop them from questioning
why it is that they are given such orders
is it because money seeps through these borders
Tourniquet won't stem the bleeding
life all too fleeting
wounds festering, parasites feed on blistered skin
they lick their lips at death and pain
they can't contain their joy
at a bullet to an innocent brain
Thanks For Reading,
Peace, Love and Poetry.
Kyle
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