Alex Duval

The General

Blind to other’s pain,
numb to his own.
Winning the war
without breaking a bone.
Butchering the masses
while devouring the land.
Killing the last
with his swift moving hand.

Bloodied hands
outstreached in search,
feeling for the sinners
who lack a church.
He pushes the button
from miles away,
leaving a crater
where once was his prey.

The dirty oil
becomes mixed with blood,
leaving behind
a stagnant mud.
For now the prices
will subside,
until the next country
cannot abide.




[TABLE OF CONTENTS, LHS CLASS OF 2009 EDITION]


Copyright 2002-2007 Student Publishing Program (SPP). Poetry and prose 2002-2007 by individual authors. Reprinted with permission. SPP developed and designed by Strong Bat Productions.