Jornada Del Muerto Poem by anteaus berryhill

He saw death upon his eyes.
Tears made his brothers faces wet from being dry.
Blood that paints the dirt red.
The deaths he had seen is what he dread.
He had bad dreams of bad things always make it hard for him to
sleep in bed.
The dreams have always terrified him.
Like terrorists bringing terror to they minds.
And traumatizing they brain to make them insane.
The killings and yellings puts them in pain.
And so wartorn but their no strong men in this world.
But their is undying men in this world.
In the end they still fight their way in the war to pass through pain.