Monday, February 18, 2013

a poem about war

Thrusting my hand into the barrel
I scrapped it off with my teeth
began chewing on gun powder
grit of regret rubs my gums raw

rows in a garden grow like soldiers
planting my feet with flowers
trying not to be strangled by weeds.

Broken glass turns to sand
castles protected by a trench
full of watered down blood.


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