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war
Tired and worn.
Dirty from another day's work.
Mud streaks mask your face,
hiding your shame,
comforting you from guilt.
Hold your gun close,
try to sleep,
though it rains fire at night.
It hurts you so much,
to act against beliefs
which you've held so dear
for all your life.
You killed a boy this morning,
before the sun came.
He reminded you
of a boy you once knew
Who played war,
ignorant of the pain it could bring.
He grew up one day,
and learned.
He learned and set beliefs.
Vowed never to make that mistake
And where is he now?
Holding a gun.
Teaching another
of the mistakes made by man.
