Misty navy blue that once covered all happy skies,
Is now dark, chilling, soaking, and smells of a thousand dead.
Mud is disgusting and severe, obliterating the grass into the ground and turning red.
The men are seeing their families and the warmth they bring.
The Ukrainian countryside, yellow for the wheat and blue for the sky,
Has now been turned into a battlefield,
How awful the Russians are even fleeing the motherland; they to are terrified to even imagine,
the helpless tyranny that the people are pushing through to beat the serpent,
The men are dreaming of home. Their clean and tidy home
The clock is slow as paint is drying. Tick... tock... Tick... tock,
The nurses are tending to the weak and the wounded; twenty-four seven.
The screams from the tears of skin is deafening,
and the children tried finding their purpose but finding their thousand yards,
The men are beaming for clean skin, a healthy life, and a healthy wife.
But the wife and children are shoving and moving through the crowd.
To purchase the need of survival so they can make their man proud,
But the supplies are dwindling and the line is close.
to the point where people are moving and made the most,
of their supplies.
The men are dreaming of their country back; the freedom and rights.
So when you sat on your phone exploring the web,
the feelings of carelessness going through your body,
I hope you see this poem and consider a new thought.
a thought for the sick, the hungry, and the bloody.