Monday, May 9, 2011

On the Battlefield (a sonnet)

An atmosphere darkened by grey mist
Stains of blood lining the ground
Hearts of families crushed in his fist
A parade of noise but he hears no sound

Death gently whispers in his ear
Adrenaline pumps through blood filled veins
Is this excitement or is this fear?
Seen lives lost but he feels no pain

In outstretched arms he holds his gun
Killing machines they all possess
The horrible things that he had done
Blindly programmed as success

Their bodies lie in a wakeless bed
He will not stop 'till all are dead

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