No Time For Art
There is no time for art
Where bullets fly
And screams of fear replace song
Even the birds are quiet
But to an artist, this is an ever evolving gallery
Where the shells, explosions, fires and bullets
By the craters, bullets holes and charred buildings
Become one abstract sculpture
Carved by destruction
As if to say
The soldier is an artist
Who paints in blood
And war itself, is art.
Copyright © Tomás Ó Cárthaigh | Year Posted 2012
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