April 15, 2025Poem
The children play
lossgriefnaturemusicpoliticstime
The children play
War games
Draw lines in the sand
Erase them
With the back of a hand
Scuff them with a shoe
Tear down a makeshift bridge
Blow up a dinky toy
With the gunpowder
From a banger.
Little rascals
Raise a flag
Tattered and torn
Made from an old tee shirt
Ripped from the back
Of the enemy
There is always one.
An old man sat on his paunch
Said he’d seen it all before
Too much libido
In the young
He lost his years ago
But had found peace
In the passing
Grief in her passing.
He sat all alone
Watching war games
Bloodied children
Digging in the dirt
Throwing stones
From fox holes
Practising their war cry.
So many here will die
He had seen it all before
He was neither happy nor sad
To see it again
Times change
Children stay the same.