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The wind of war

My home I used to stay but the wild war wind blew me away I used sweet song gladness with you but now I walk alone sing third swan sadness in a sad and solemn tone so

march on We go trying to hide our fear that are inevitable End is near
But we go marching on .
We get closer the thought gets louder as we hear the frightening devastating explosions of gunpowder.

Oh no
oh no
not us
not you
not me
not I
not we
Then we terrifyingly see the gigantic grotesque government sternly staring at me and then he screamed in a loud demanding vulgar tone.

“Look boy you have no choice for in this world you no longer have a voice .
Now march come on go you are the luscious wild white lamb I am the farmer now go on and go to the slaughter!”
I ran as fast as I could . I tried my best but then an agonizing pain blasted through my chest I dropped my gun and laid down my wiry head I then said goodbye to this world as I now lay Cold white and dead.

Review Request (Direction): 
How was my language use?
What did you think of the rhythm or pattern or pacing?
Is the internal logic consistent?
Editing stage: 
Content level: 
Not Explicit Content


Hi Edward, scary prose poetry, all about death, dictatorship and war. Death comes to the youngest and the discriminated people first of all, they have no choice but to join the forces, where they get food and lodging of a sort.
I like your title and the content, but as usual, I think the spacing is defficient. Just my take, you don't need to change, TorT.
I understand there might be a forum for prose soon. It's being talked about, I think we need one.
Thanks for sharing your thoughts so well, all the best, Gracy

"My soul is painted like the wings of butterflies; fairy tales of yesterday will grow but never die, I can fly, my friends.” – Freddie Mercury

I hope you are doing fine in this Time mass hysteria

Thank you

Hlm life without literature is a life without logic.

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