War Torn

IF these walls could talk they'd sing a sombre song,
of bloodshed and days longer gone.

A world of uniform fighting,
when bombings were as regular as church bells.

When a boy became a man at thirteen,
and he was lucky to see thirty.

Sitting here contemplating the reality of mortality.

Realising how grateful we should be,
to those who gave up a-lot more than you and me.

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