Mine Field

We are a weary battalion.

We are bruised and our limbs are sore.

We have not had peace in our encampment.

Even the water has turned bitter.

Some of us smell bad.

Kind words are rarely spoken.

Morale is lower than a snake’s ankles.

Our leader is too weary to command.

The forecast is bleak.

A joke of the day would likely offend someone.

No two are soothed by the same melody.

Now Hiring:  Morale Officer.

Any takers?


NaPoWriMo Day #7





About found4sure

I like to write. I think too much!
Aside | This entry was posted in People, Poetry, Uncategorized and tagged , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

One Response to Mine Field

  1. akeepingroom says:

    His Mercy is new EVERY morning. Praise God! … And you have quite a gift of writing!

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