Conscience Of A War

The beating of drums, wardrums,
Screams of deaths filled the sky,
People slaughtered, heads decapitated,
A traumatic sight , it must have been,

The river once pure, now red,
Blood red,
Stench of blood flooding the once odorless river,
The aftermath of a war,

In this cornfield filled with corpses,
Ravens filled the sky,
Scarecrows, no longer scaring the blackbirds,
A tiring day for the reaper,

Through this aftermath I walked,
Towards the other end,
A broken shack filled my gaze,

In this broken shelter,
An old family photograph hung by a rusty nail,
Smeared with blood,
With trembling hands, I reached towards it,

The once smiling man in this picture,
Now dead, a mere sacrifice he has been,
Was it worth it?