A Solider Ambition Poem by Louis Borgo

The sight of blood, savage limbs,
Perpendicular glossary to sky,
Why so symbolic could it be, so divine?

Melting skulls, haste tongues,
Humble severed from commands,
Is it a war zone at its end, or something like slim disease to propose?

A wise man once said,
That the term Love, Should never be thrown around if;
You can never feel or distort from it.

My question to the wise man,
When will war end,
But I never got to propose such a question.

Young brother young brother I see we are close to cross that mountain,
No matter your age origin or color, or creed.
I consider you my young brothers.