When One Is At War

No blanks were fired.

Each round was live.

Devoid of aiming.

T’was nine to five.

Pulses race. (I can hear your heart)

Can’t embrace. (We’re torn apart)

Then these shells keep blowing up.

Fox holes nowhere deep enough.

Life gets short when things get tough.

And they do.

Barry Williams http://barry-williams.com/blog

Much of what I write will be quite understandable to insane folks.

The rest will be, uh, less understandable...

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