Bullets of the Mind

Bullets leave without instructions,

mostly without intention.

Randomly passing harmlessly,

leaving only a whistle to indicate death was close.

 

The turmoil of war, unlike Hollywood,

is chaotic, perhaps good fortune determining outcomes;

enemies undistinguished from friends,

hate or love removed from a game seemingly played by Greek Gods of War.

 

In this decision making hell,

I rely entirely on instinct,

those who I think are my friends,

and God.

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This entry was posted in Poetry.

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