Birds Of Prey Poem by Daniel Fortuna Jr.

War is hell, truly it is so; many, oh how so many, souls falling one by one in a horrifyingly even flow.Dark wings flapping, for none are innocent, dark wings of the crow.Weapons of pestilence for which they wield; bodies strooned upon the blood-soaked field as smoke fills the air laced with the foul stench of death; each one taking their last breath.They find that there is know place to hide from the hell thatthey find themselves in; looking out for each other they do as if they were kin. Echoes within their minds from the high command telling them they need to win, for they know they need to kill to survive.How they yearn for the life they once knew.The life they wish they could revive.How they wish for a safe haven; alas, it calls them & out ofknow where, it sweeps down upon them does the raven.
War is hell, we can only hope it will someday cease to exist; whether it will, only time will ultimately tell.I wish to God it wasn't like this; I pray that all the animosity in the world would fade away& bring forth an everlasting era of peace & bliss.With the present being a sad & distant memory; a past that certainly know one would miss.War is hell, an obvious fact indeed; nevertheless, it prevents the hawk time & time again from planting it's seed.spreading it's wings with the sharp & deadly arrows of it's talons as it sings. Clearly, anyone can tell, war is a living hell.