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.