The Heirlooms of War: I
Bullets pop, pop, pop
like popcorn
and pierce through precious skin
leaving it pale.
Boom, boom, boom
sparkles of color in the sky.
Some run and take cover – they gather their loved ones too,
Others cheer in celebration
These nights of July.
Bodies, bodies, bodies
“From Him we come, to Him we will return”
fallen they lay.
Preciously placed, positioned – which side of the war do you choose?
Doesn’t matter, death will come to you.
Bodies are rested, but are they in peace?
Souls are lifted – forever gone.
Who will grant them justice?
