at war with a poem
a poem is that phosphorus bomb
that burns right through your heart
a cluster bomb of words
one through every heart
a defoliant that lets you see
the wood from the trees that part
that bullet with your name on it
that hits the love above your heart
a poem is a path
through the minefield to your heart
the razor wire blasted apart
the shell-hole ghosts risen hath
a war poem is a fist
clamped around the book that’s torn
read the last line again for me
tomorrow is another morn
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