J. A. Napper

He was but a mere boy

Following his heart’s desire.

No longer did he play with that army toy,

But now wielded a metal stick of fire.

Death followed his every ploy 

Like tree shadows in a dark mire. 

He didn’t know this was an execution

Of innocence: his soul’s intrusion.

Death and chaos are all he knows. 

A young man from the start, 

But youth fled like arrows from bows 

As rage grew within his heart. 

Years of lies fill news shows 

Like refuse in a homeless man’s cart. 

Can’t you see through the confusion? 

This war concussed his disillusion.