From the time we are born there is a war. A war inside ourselves, a war that never ceases. It's the war of discomfort, the war of life, the war of death, and the war of peace of mind. Everytime we win one war we lose another. It's the reason we are always tired, the reason some switch to death as a choice, because they lost the war within. And if the war within isn't enough, the rulers of this world choose to take out their problems by using external wars. The Civil War, The War of Gettysburg, World War 1, World War 2, and now the War of Iraq. Millions of people have died, many are in distress, and many are so overwhelmed by the war they lose their minds.
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Comments about this poem (War by Kailem Conow )
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(September 25, 1930 – May 10, 1999)
(13 February 1879 - 2 March 1949)
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