Little Boy and a Tank
Big gargantuan green
growly gun laden machines
vestiges of terror
of man's slaughter of man.
I can not fathom,
I do not understand,
what they represent
Inside precious nutmeg colored eyes
the size
of saucers
that gleam with such devilish joy,
at the very sight of these
great slumbering, sleeping,
skeletal carcasses of war.
What do they mean
to you?
What instinct within you...
has been so touched by the sight
that it CRIES OUT
to ride and conquer
and know more than you should
about
these rusted, crusted, dusty, musty
machines of war?
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