Stains on the concrete like blooming brown flowers
Piles of wild grass, dry as sand, tracing a path up the curb
Potholes brimming with ***** water, a gleaming sheet of oil
Rotten houses, with all the windows smashed into collages
of razors
Stinking in their own slow decay, eaten away by time &
termites
The trees in the yard have shed their leaves, blanketing
the ground in fading brilliance
Fingers of breeze shift them, rustling with the sound of
a thousand roaches
Shedding the mornings condensation on the boots of
two legged insects
A pile of walking guts, giving nothing, taking everything
Vomiting their poison on the soil, reaping their foul
harvest
Wielding guns & machetes, cannons & swords, sticks &
stones
It's bone against bone, hand against hand, man destroying
man
Because the definition of war is many men dying for a few mens
interests