Blogger's Paradise, Poems

Our wounds bleed red

Our wounds bleed red,

our veins flow blue.

Is this all a bad dream

or are our horrors true?
Like machines, we march on,

but where we’re headed is unknown.

We’ve forgotten what love tastes like

and we can’t remember the smell of home.
We sing songs and say rhymes,

in the hopes of feeling at ease.

Our sleep is tainted crimson

from the blood of our enemies.
They tell us we are good soldiers,

though our bones ache from the fight.

Mama taught us hurting others is wrong,

yet they tell us this war is right.
Our wounds bleed red,

our veins flow blue.

This pain is our reality,

this war is our truth.

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