War Poem
Driving up,
we noticed papers and clothes strewn across the lawn,
The house is battered with bullet holes,
broken glass gouges the ground.

We take in every room,
it’s all the same.
Nothing but Death.
Whole families dead,
with no warning,
No appreciation for the devastation
about to unravel.

One house the father slouched in his lazy boy chair,
the mother slumped over the sink, water still running.
The son halfway in the toy chest digging for his favorite car,
the daughter wrapped herself around her dolls trying to protect them.

No survivors, everything and everyone,
torn to shreds.

Why? They had nothing to do with this.