Those with the thousand yard stare

Were beyond hope or care.

They had seen the blood and the entrails.

The hail of lead

Those who bled.

And from gaping holes

The escaping souls

Screamed and they swore,

That this war was a whore.

And those who were dying

Thought of mothers left crying.

But in the shot and the shell

In this f*ckin mad hell.

Strode a man with a plan,

And with a heart full of peace

He said that all wars should cease.

Then as opposing armies listened

Opposing eyes glistened.

And they heard the truth,

Called an immediate truce.

An end to hostilities

A return to sensibilities.

But for those with the stare

They did not care

They were locked into dreams

Of repeating mad screams.

And so it goes on.


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