The Little Warrior
 
He put down his toys for a rifle
Given to him from a rebel
To the little boy who didn’t care
What regime overthrows what regime
 
Life was fun and games
Life was civil, the elders were kind
Love and respect were passed along
As generations gave unto the next
 
Toy rifles are for little boys
Bullets are for those who are able
Who know what targets to aim at
Old enough to have control
 
Child’s eyes no longer filled with glee
A fierce warrior he’s grown to be
A mad man in a little boy’s body
Who sees blood spilling into the streets
 
Child, that you are nevermore
A warrior sprung up through the haze
Of smoke filled battlefields
And older men doing what they do
Not little boys doing what they can’t
Go home little boy, go home

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Vic
over 4 years

Great poem. Timely subject.
I don't think I can read all 480 of your poems. Which is unfortunate because judging from this one, they would be just as great. Kudos to you...

Cory Garcia
over 4 years

Brilliant

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