Ant Mac Poet Rhyme

War

Before the guns and bombs were made
the clubs and fists were swung
names for numbers now we trade
the senseless turned all numb

crumbled blocks broken down
create, destroy, rebuild
a three ringed circus paints a town
the crop gives up its yield

when fields demark a hospital
operations carry hope
what's kept for some is lost for all
descent, a slippery slope 

the yoke is held on common ground
the round encasement smoked
logic is stuck on what was found
when starched and staunch men spoke

to quote with quaint eloquence 
will mask whose fate was sealed
an absence of benevolence 
when truths have been revealed.

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