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written by: TM DiSarro



The gun is on the table
A pen is in my hand
Scrawling grave details
Time is measured out in sand
As dust will gather silently
Like particles of pain
And rust will eat away the days
Create the perfect stain
The lives we waste on paper
Are so different in the flesh
Our words are turned to vapor
In the moment we confess
But who has heard the children cry
Inside a TV screen
To push a button on a bomb
And wipe the surface clean
I served a purpose for a cause
Now wrapped inside this flag
Turned my mind to metal
Like the names upon this tag
Poisoned my existence
For a country and a king
Giving up a conscience
While I blindly kissed a ring
Now my family gathers round
My wife is by my side
Silence is the only sound
Dust remains outside
But who can hear the children cry
Inside computer screens
Pushing buttons on a lie
Wipe the surface clean
Pinpoint life inside a grid
Satellites for eyes
Leaving feelings hidden
As death rains from the skies
Targets are the things of toys
Maps show us the way
Voices in your head destroy
As children fade away
Dust remains to testify
The battlefield is here
Wars are waged inside the mind
Fear is all we fear
We choose to hear the children cry
Or live inside a dream
Where people are reduced to dust
We wipe the surface clean


©2017 TM DiSarro/MindScapesPublishing


From the collection: THOMAS CADENCE

TM DiSarro

TM DiSarro

I do not consider myself a writer but I love to write. Neither a poet but I love poetry. I steal bits and pieces of time to scratch out ideas on note books, laptops and cell phones. I live and work in Florida fabricating custom canvas and other fabric products and sometimes costumes.
TM DiSarro

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