The spoils of war are these: dismembered souls
Who with blank eyes do wander through the world
Their open mouths are mute, like gaping holes
Where trauma’s inky limbs are tightly curled.
But not all wars are waged on battlefields
Nor fought abroad with soldiers bearing arms
Some enemies bear not a nation’s shields
And visible are not their deadly harms.
For wicked is the war that’s waged on self
With unkind words and horrid acts of hate
Like rusty nails in hearts that deeply delve
And every trace of hope obliterate.
The veterans walk amongst you, tread with care;
And for their courage, quietly offer prayer.
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