《Dark Poetry》(XLII) Are What We See

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Gunshots can be heard

From miles away.

The work that needs to be done

Keeps the grief at bay.

Blood spills across the gravel,

As the wars keep raging forth.

Windows are shut tight,

As the armies march North.

All is lost,

When the shots , 1, 2, 3

Ring out into the air

And the dead are what we see.

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