My Little War Poem by Bob Bradley

The war began long ago
when I was still but a boy
for mother's death
I must surely answer
but the big people know
she passed cruelly from cancer

The first arrow
did pierce my soul
shot by my sworn enemy guilt
my tears flowed like blood
on a desolate battlefield spilt

Beaten often to my knees
by the broadsword of shame
infantile justice to appease
though innocent of wrong
I must take the blame

Wisdom begins my mind to mature
bursting from darkness into light
all bad is not my fault anymore
at least in this dream that I write

These words I sacrifice
on the altar of reason
so from my pernicious foe
I may rest for a season