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Izziey Smith May 2014
May the sky be blessed
Reality is nowhere
The sky shall remain
Izziey Smith Apr 2014
War
Grind their bones
To make the bread,
Won't really matter
With thousands dead,

Feed the poor
Yet **** the young
Save them from the pitiless world

While they fight without hope,
We cry while they die,
Far away and alone
There's no pain like your own

They leave for honor and
fight for their country,
But if they come back,
They aren't the same
For they have blood on their hands,
And memories equivalent to any nightmare

War is for nothing.
It brings only death, sadness, and anger.
Yet we still fight
And they still die

When will it end?
Will it ever be over?
Our children die,
Yet the country doesn't
Give a second thought to our grief

Why did they have to leave us so soon?
People perish on both sides.
Nothing is gained
From continuous bloodshed

We watch as the light
Fades from their eyes
We see blood grow,
And horror mount
As our friends and family die
With their country's lies.

Their souls leave early, and enter the Nether,
And at the Pearly Gates,
They mourn the loss of the living,
While we mourn the loss of the dead.

Those who die serving their country,
Fighting honorably, without hope,
Saving others and reinventing chivalry,

They will go to Heaven.
They have earned eternal joy
No matter what side they were on

For saving lives, yet losing theirs,
They will mourn the living,
While those they saved
Honor their sacrifice,
And we mourn the dead
I dedicate this poem to all kind-hearted fallen soldiers in ANY battles, anywhere

— The End —