After the War

Warfare is a malicious psychological game, Once it is over, you’re never quite the same, Warfare is extraordinarily dense, Once it has been overcome, it rarely makes any sense, Some become drifters, images dancing in forbidden space, With echoes of a once young, familiar face, You can’t buy back the time or obscure place, All that’s left is a bitter aftertaste, And you may win but somehow you still loose, For the deserts leave you with not much of a choice from which to choose, Warfare is the rotten apple, But at least you have food inside your starving chapel, Warfare with its deliberate sinking song, Blasting bombs that shatter all who were once strong, Blasting bombs that haven’t gone off in so long. BY: Sabina Nicole