Erm... Eighth grade crap.

Ehhh wrote this one for English. It's not so great.


The Game

Guns splatter bullets against the walls
of the small house, and
soldiers march up and down the halls;
Ready to take their land.

Cannons boom, the airplanes hum,
gunshots echo o’er the hills.
Troops, they just continue to come
until the war has had its fill.

Of plastic, metal, wood galore.
Bodies cover every inch.
Yet in they stream- more and more.
They take refuge inside the ditch.

Bombs rain down, gunfire joins.
Anger continues to spur them on.
Innocent families lose their coins
to fuel the hunger of the gun.

Many protest, few go home;
they lost their lives, and somehow more.
Depression covers them like a dome.
It chills us all down to the core.

When finally, one last man stands;
he raises his weapon into the air
before throwing it down, upon the ground.
The war is finally done- here.