July 17, 2016
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Tilting brims of hats—

For so called service

Indiscriminate dust—

Scattered where there is light

Blackwood limbs frayed—

Under the bloodied skies

Shadows of men—

Stained on thirsty fields

Screaming and thrashing—

His rifle still smoking

As a father cradles his son—

Who soon walks—

Who soon talks—

Who soon slaughters—

At Wilderness at dawn

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ccscott99 said...
Jul. 26, 2016 at 7:47 pm
The diction in this piece is fabulous. It actually inspired me to add another piece to my account. If you could check it out that would be amazing!
--Em-- said...
Jul. 22, 2016 at 12:21 pm
I love the words you used and the way you arranged your poem, especially the repetition at the end; it made me want to keep reading. Great work!
Thetruthbehindme21 said...
Jul. 21, 2016 at 9:27 pm
this is great the way you worded it i was intruiged to read it i read it 5 times! great job.
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