Melting Snowball: Wars Hold

Silver blades in deathmatch, sound of thunder, lightning cuts flesh in half. Robotic feet march, shaking redwood trees, frightening bird wings. Bobbing heads in claustrophobic helmets, decomposing. Cannonballs block out the sunny skies — fate’s abysm.* Fat furry rats scurry, from trench to trench that reeks, With dead men’s bones and meat, like drowning flotsam. Tears like a raging hurricane scream out, For their mother’s arms to hold them tight. How is it, the sun’s glow appears? The nightmare’s invisible. You tuck your son in bed Then kiss his sweet head And shake with fear. Will war grab His soul? NO! 3/19/2018 Line Gauthier’s A Melting Snowball Contest *syllable counter counted abysm as two syllables but dictionary has 3