The Warrior Caste

The Warrior Caste

The hours spent with tissue tents
lined up in little rows.
We'd start at noon until the moon
in silver splendor rose.

Soldiers in green, their plastic sheen
dulled by backyard dirt,
would battle on 'til one side won
with no one ever hurt.

No uniform, we'd each transform
our soldiers in our mind.
They looked the same, even in name,
and yet, sides were defined.

The ground would fly as "bang" we'd cry,
explosions left and right.
We didn't know, more than a show,
we were learning to fight.

It was just play we'd do each day,
building a warrior caste.
There was no thought to a future fraught
with ideas from the past.

On summer days it was the craze,
our father's legacy,
though unforeseen, war by machine
would be our destiny.

Now bumps are cliffs, we've wars from tiffs,
intolerance the norm.
We've never learned that bridges burned,
makes every cloud a storm.

There's no pretense of innocence
for play is how we learn.
What we did then, comes back again.
That must be our concern.

An entry for Round 35 (August) of "Poetic Traditions Poetry Contest " 
Form: The Triquatrain   was created by Robert L. Huntsman. It is a quatrain poem in tri-rhyme with a specific rhyming pattern. Lines 1 and 3 have internal rhyme whereas lines 2 and 4 do not.
Line limit: 50
Line Count: 24