Bring Them Home.
Bodies mount like grains of sandAlong the highways of barren lands
Dust and cordite, under scorching sun
Blood and tears in torrents run
Children scatter with fear filled eyes
Among the corpses black with flies
The stench of death permeates the air
But life is cheap so who will care
Twisted metal burning tyres
Plumes of smoke from funeral pyres
Executions, screams of hate
no time for sense, its all to late
Torn and bleeding the world looks on
Our youth destroyed in a war not won
Its not 12 B.C. or even Rome
Its time to bring our children home.
Poetry by penfold18
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Written on 2006-10-13 at 11:01
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