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Blood on Canvas (poem)
By Judy Posusney
Blood stains from any war are the same.
Blood of young men and women.
Names do not matter.
They have hearts as that stopped beating, families who began to cry and the enemy marks one more kill.
Red blood marks us all. When it dries upon the canvas, it leaves room for the next.
The living who witness young lives falling away, while the deafening sounds of bombs, gunfire, helicopters scream to keep them focused ... The living are imprinted with the onslaught of all 5 senses for the rest of their lives.
Peace to all.