Boots on the Ground

One day, an invading regime

stepped foot on foreign land

with guns in hand and gas masks

tightly wrapped around their blank

faces. They marched, side by side,

down nameless, crumbling streets.

Curious children peaked around

every corner. Broken glass,

shrapnel, and splintered wood

from broken doors littered

the streets and sidewalks.

All of the rubble and crumbled

buildings told a tale of death,

destruction, and trouble. Tear

gas and pepper spray polluted

the once pure air. Those who

had any energy left to fight

charged the merciless regime.

With courage and pride,

many sacrificed their lives

to defend their honor against

the forces of evil. The ruthless

regime marched on and stepped

over motionless bodies; they

relished in the brouhaha and shrills

forced out of suffocating lungs.

What do they want? What did we

do? The response to these questions

would be met with either silence

or casuistry. Too many lives lost.

Too many shattered dreams.

Too many young souls ripped

from their home. After many

melancholic days, the regime left,

but they left a path of destruction.

In the wake of their wrath,

an entire history was erased,

and a town was destroyed.

A beautifully written story ended

once the their soldiers deployed.

——

Words Used:

Regime

melancholic

casuistry

energy

brouhaha

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