Poetree

Mayhem

Black skies of the ashed town,

As your iron birds shell the ground.

Occasional shots of imported artillery,

That announce the Victor's chivalry.

With every brick that is shaken today ,

Falls a man's dream to live "his way".

But even as your bullet rips his heart

With his dreams he will never part.

Your victory shall be marked in books,

Your action shall draw influential looks,

Your show of courage with casualties high,

Yet your reason to rejoice is a widow's cry.

Your proud march to your sploit,

And women hide as you gallant soldiers loit;

Through the broken homes and stores,

Taking helpless women as military whores.

And the last sign of resistance strikes,

Unarmed yet patriots rise.

Your well trained forces ready for war,

The doom of life and "civilized scar".

Hails of shots broke the lines,

Toxins were spread in the vines,

"It rained blood" cried a few;

Rest were poisoned before they knew.

Shrills and cries haunted the place,

Today's ruin was yesterday's grace.

Soon the treasury knew no gold,

Took down monuments, centuries old.

The army drank and took off their vest,

Killed the injured used the rest;

And just as one quenched his lust,

Stood away as the other must.

Civilians were hunted in the streets,

Children were killed and wrapped in sheets,

Waited to be burnt as the Victors desire,

To use bodies for bonfire.