Art Of War Poem by Alexander Klubi

Our minds are blank slates
War the artist
Its brush is man
With every stroke
Our minds are struck

Our minds are worn slates
Brotherhood the artist
With every shot
With every bomb
Our bond grows closer

Our minds are tainted slates
Death the artist
With every stroke
Our bodies' rot
But our minds are sent to rest

Our minds are painted slates
Life the artist
Its brush has no bristles
We wait for death to take the slate
But we are not afraid and have accepted our fate