One might at age of nineteen go to war,
as it has been so many times before.
Too often mercy lost to rage and hate,
too many questioned why such brutal fate.
But there he lies with insides all turned out,
no more concerned of what life was about.
And those who do survive relive the tale,
in silence seek some peace to no avail.
And here today at times we often see,
that from such horror we are not yet free.
At age nineteen again a fate to dread,
to horrors unimagined we are fed.
A college campus with no space that’s safe?
With no tough love we shield the worried waif.
When well protected from a startling word,
reality is comfortably deferred.
(The Random Poet:110716; v1:030170;
www.therandompoet.com)
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