Art of War

If silence could be framed,
Would you hang it on your wall?
Like these statues of lost children,
waiting, without a word, to fall.

Voices linger, longing to begin again,
Whispers of a journey left un-traveled.
The path taken, the pre-made fall
set long before their truth unraveled.

Lost again in a memory
Faded etchings in stony grey
Side by side, swords ever-raised
Your pooling reflection flickers past the day

The world was made a coloring book
and you’ve painted the sky red.
All we have is the sacrifice,
rivers run with tears we’ve shed.

Does reality frighten you?
As you turn your face to hide,
all we have left are the ashes
when the smoke, at last, subsides.

All of the pieces cast aside,
broken canvases on the floor.
Delicate designs of forgotten children.
This is life, the art of war.

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