War

We stand here,

our emotions hand-picked

out of a box of crayolas,

we are molded metal

slowly bending itself

to become

the children of poverty,

lust,

we are the muted jewels

that can no longer

shine;

we fall slowly

like moths into a jar,

we are creatures

robbed of our peace,

our places taken

by alibies,

tears of blood

falling

into the hands

of our enemies,

our pain,

our trust,

our misfortune

being thrust

int a grab-bag

of happiness

Copyright (C) 2009 Sara LeMaster