Tuesday, March 19, 2013

Standing Up To The Plate

While in the midst of lighten sparks above me
Sounds of thunder crumbling, rolling down to die,
Hoping to see only replicas of me,
I watch through horrified disembodied eyes.

The long barrels cramp my hands
Dare I not let go
Nights befall me, days unfold
But we're stuck here all about us,
Crimson and gold

Was it our hearts that you broke
Or our souls that you stole
When you sent us here to restore
Our duty stands before

We pray for the crying
The young and the old
Yours, theirs, and mine
All of us, just want to come home.

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