The dogs of war
are howling again,
rounding up the sheep,
to feed to the wheels again.
To grind them down
into the soil,
replenishing the stains
that grow over the green shoots
that fight through the toil,
to seed the poppy fields with red,
to feed the roots with the dead.
The hounds are
snarling, rabid growls.
The fox cowers
in its hole in the ground.
The wheels are rumbling now.
Churning up the atmosphere.
A groan then a cry.
A scream in the night.
Another falls.
Another dies.
Blinding light the last sight
seen in dying eyes,
as missiles rain down from
traumatic skies.
The dogs are
gnashing teeth,
drool mixing
into the blood beneath.
A screech. A hellish song.
A devils choir,
a pied piper leading them on.
One by one they all march along.
The conclusion forgone
as the wheels thunder like
the sky has been torn.
Sons and daughters
spent like pennies
to fill the pockets
of those men that are
dead behind the eyes.
Lay low.
Don’t listen to the call.
Don’t go to those fields
where only dead dreams lie
and the ground is hollow
with the bones of those poor few
who follow and will never grow.
There is no glory,
no honour in killing another,
in dying for the lies they sow.
Thanks for reading
Follow this link for more.
https://linktr.ee/Wordsandfluff
continue to do this.
Peace, Love & Poetry
Kyle
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