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Iraq: Discount Wholesale Slaughter
by Jersey D GibsonBullets flying,
people dying,
women crying,
soldiers trying.
Miniguns roar,
helicopters soar,
weapon out of doors,
gas peddle, floor.
Iraqis shoot,
Imam's root,
people loot,
peace moot.
Is there no end to this fight?
When will we ever know peace?
Tired of this wholesale slaughter,
tired of all the fighting.
Bullets got,
you got shot,
sun so hot,
foot rot.
Back pain,
blood stain,
no damn rain,
nothing gained.
Humvees stop,
soldiers drop,
Iraqis flop,
car bombed cop.
Is there an end to this destruction?
When will we ever know forgiveness?
Tired of all this wholesale slaughter,
tired of being here.
Saddam's gone,
freedom's song,
day is long,
why're we wrong?
IED blown,
body parts shown,
insurgents stoned,
I wanna go home.
Never-ending,
never-stoping,
never-ceasing,
never leaving.
Is there an end to all the killing?
When will we ever know a day of peace?
Sick of all this wholesale slaughter,
sick of being here. 05/06/2005 Posted on 05/07/2005
Copyright © 2024 Jersey D Gibson
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Chris Sorrenti on 05/07/05 at 01:21 PM Well stated Jersey. Adds a whole new meaning to "war is hell." |
| Posted by Brett Shane on 05/10/05 at 01:32 AM again, i think you are right on with this write... you put into writing what i can not yet say. |
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