War

Stomping hard on ourselves,
Celebrating victory�s red tint,
Filing compassion on hidden shelves,
And propping love on a fragile splint.

Killing our dreams
For the taste of bloodied dirt.
Silencing mercy�s screams
And the countless victims we hurt.

Separate parts
No longer pieced.
Severed hearts,
Our passion deceased.

-

This poem is original and copyright of Ben Ellsworth.
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