Grown-up Games
Darkness reclaiming, A battle rages, Ground soaked, With red. The wounded, Screaming, For death's release. Fears of coming twilight, Prayers to, Forgotten gods. Skys lit, But not with stars, Ravaged with distruction. Young boys, Just wishing, To see home. Not a game, Real pain, Does not give, Extra lives. Buddies die, Not to come back, To play later. Blood on hands, Guns held, By hands that, Use to only, Hold footballs. And through it all, The pale rider, rides.Written January 14th, 2002..........I'm Whisper Mckee © on Jan 13 2002 03:14 PM PST, Phyllis Thompson other • life • society
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"Darkness reclaiming,..."