War is mystery.
War is beautiful.
It fills the eye.
It's astonishing.
You hate it, yes, but your eyes do not.
War is hell.
War is despair.
The truth is ugly.
It commands you.
Every sin is fresh and original.
War is fun.
War makes you a man.
The aliveness makes you tremble.
War is just another name for death.
Proximity to death brings with it a corresponding proximity to life.
War is longing.
War is love.
You want decency.
You want justice and courtesy.
You are filled with a hard, aching love for how the world could be and always should be.
War is terror.
War makes you dead.
Not a word.
Boom, down.
You're never more alive than when you're almost dead.
~Material from Tim O'Brien's The Things They Carried~
I really think it's cool how you split your poem into a few smaller poems about war. Not just one "War is..." statement, but multiple instead.
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