November 5, 2011
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Boots trudging through mud,
Sweat, tears and blood,
Make there way to an utmost prison.
There’s a bittersweet nectar in the air,
Going home? You wouldn't dare,
Not until too many souls have been torn.
Backs have been broken and down went the sun,
Far from home- fresh out of fun,
I suppose we have all just spoken too loud.
Too late for advice,
A piece of armor will have to suffice,
You just hope to someday find peace.

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