Terry Miller Poet Free verse

Arms Race

Arms, legs,
fists, feet,
beating chests;
teeth meet.

Stones, bones,
sharp-honed tusks,
poisoned darts;
obsidian clubs.

Slings, arrows,
outrageous bows,
black-edged flints;
sharp-pointed swords.

Red-glare rockets, 
gold knightly spears,
squat-humped cannons;
trebuchets.

Muskets, pistols,
bayonet rifles, 
spitting Maxims;
Tommy guns.

Gray battleships,
deep submarines,
articulated tanks;
V-ones, V-twos.

Experimental Zeppelins,
jet-fighter planes,
flying forts;
atomic bombs.

Poison gas,
Laser rays,
will it ever end;
the race?

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Caren Krutsinger October 24, 2021 at 1:09 AM I sure wish it would end; it does not seem to though; but I am definitely glad you wrote this one. It is a gorgeous write that says much. Terry Miller October 24, 2021 at 7:06 AM Thank you Caren I wanted to write something with an angry beat to it, and of course, it never will end.

Mystic Rose Rose September 27, 2021 at 4:40 AM Man does man have ways when he wants to fight, I pray the race gets renewed by warriors who use energy spikes instead of virus spikes, ... and how is God? I hide him in my chest away from guns, I'm shooting for the moon with bullet sized stars, my friend, and a pen of course, sending you a beg hello, :) and a smile to make your day. Terry Miller October 2, 2021 at 12:41 AM Thank you.