Silent battles

It was a battle a bloody silent war with no gun shots’ from enemies neither the noisy planes that shoots up sky,

You can’t see people carrying guns and explosives because it’s not a war that can be seen.

The voiceless cry of a weeping angel

That loses her way to sound the trumpet.

The boy who can’t even hurt a fly

Got his hand tainted by blood neither of his enemy nor some else’s.

The artist who painted that flower by the creek,

Can’t even hold his paint brush, splashes a dark paint in his soul.

 

Can’t you see this silent war ruined many?

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