Wasted


After the battle was over,
Amidst the remains of millions,
One figure was left alive.

A small boy, no more than seven,
Staring with wild eyes at the bones around him.
Having even lived through it,
He still could not comprehend such horrors.

How many, he wondered.
How many lost lives was he standing amongst?
Each of these bodies had a name.
A family.
A world.
Before it was all thrown away.

Tears dropped down his cheeks,
Washing away the blood on his hands.
They soaked his clothes,
Each tear a tribute to the fallen.

Wasted.
All of these souls,
Doomed to roam the battlefield for eternity.

And they didn’t even win.

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