denabest
Writing brings about an explainable satisfaction, I've used it to express my deepest secrets, greatest desires and severe hurts and still do
Eloquent, though it was,
To convince men to die,
When upon the field,
We knew the words were lies.
The enemy we found,
Were people just like us.
That in eloquence,
Put their foolish trust.
As I came to another,
A man in the field.
We looked upon the ground,
To the people that we'd killed.
I looked into his eyes,
And gasped at what I found.
He believed he fought for good,
His reasons, morals, sound!
We looked across the valley,
At bodies, broken, maimed.
It was then that I realized,
We all bleed the same.