As the wind wisps through my locks
I see it all,
The hatred, the murder, the deaths
Of the generations gone by.
A river of blood
Flows from the streets,
Gaping holes of those metal killers
Where they chose to fight.
The dying roam
Seeking for shelter and warmth,
Glancing at our latest victims
With an empty look of remorse.
The children are now silent
Fore they’ve cried their voices mute,
Trembling in the silence
Watching the gun in my hand.
I slink away sadly
As the wind whips through my hair,
Regrouping my army
That had put them there.
Based on the point of veiw from a soldier in Afganistan.