There is a lullaby
as gentle as a storm.
In it there goes a hush of abeyance.

They pace in marches    
with pristine apathy
and in each footprint
their walk evanesces into something…
not even a shadow could follow.                

Memories displaced,
now rings the ballad of their story.

Their bodies eclipsed with bellicose machinery,
and where’s the world?    

Are they practicing stoics?

Perhaps if we look hard enough
we will see the vestige of smiles
and their accomplices of tempered laughter.

But what we find are little warriors
marked as young veterans           

Their once instilled innocence
whispers in a hoarse voice,
“Why would humanity be such a
neglectful mother
and let her children play with guns
and act as soldiers?”