Casual Tea Poem by Alfred Barna

War has many casualties
The first victim is the soul
The longer you pursue your enemy
The more the wounds are inflicted
Until you are dead
Long before the battle takes men
From the field
Each man kills the heart
Then the air no longer smells sweet
And numbness sets in slowly
So that eventually you have dead men
Looking to take each other out of their misery
Victory is at times, the last zombie standing
Then you have nowhere to go
For the ghosts you defeated never die
So, on, and on, we ever lie