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Child Soldiers

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For some,
War was just a game we played,
When we were kids.
But for others,
War was the reality,
They were forced to grow up in.
Police sirens,
To drift them off to sleep.
Scars and memories,
That they're forced to keep.
Broken hearts,
Are the Devil's only souvenir.
Battle wounds,
To prove that he was already here.
Everyday,
A constant struggle with yesterday.
The same game,
Of learning to hide the pain.
A painted smile,
To try and hide the tears.
Another rouse,
To cover up their fears.
Until one day,
When these children,
Are forced to be adults.
And the only thing,
They know about the world,
Is that it hurts.
And the truth,
Is so far out of reach,
It's insane.
And the only option,
Is that things must be flipped,
They can't remain the same.
These kids,
Who were once neglected,
Now hold the key.
A new generation,
Where the only real reality,
Is to teach society.
Child soldiers,
Are not a foctional term,
Not a fairytale story.
They are real,
They are here,
And yes, they are hurting.



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Effi. said...
Jan. 13 at 10:01 am:
This hit home. I was a absued child, always feeling like it was my fault. I was forced to grow up to fast, and deal with the world as it was. Your poem hit me, wonderful job. (check my stuff if you can, thanks)
 
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