Bullets and bombs,
the march goes on,
through towns and cities,
a rhythmic thrum..
Drumming in time,
like a machine gun.
Blood spills, innocent lost.
Air raid sirens against the morning frost.
The mourning counting the cost.
Bullets and bombs,
always seems the way,
bullies in arms.
Guns drawn,
flags torn
bodies litter the floor.
Blood soaks pavements.
Can we end this call for war?
Bullets and bombs
will never win
always have to end up talking.
Buildings crashing,
no doves being released.
Missiles smashing,
where are the calls for peace?
Anger rising,
no talking,
just hatred in its most hurtful guise.
No compromising,
just bombs dropping from the skies.
No white flags waving,
only bullets blazing.
Thanks for reading
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Peace, Love and Poetry
Kyle
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