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Little toy soldiers...

by Katie Mason, age 16, from US

Little toy soldiers march across a field,
driven by forces unknown to them.
The force is tradition. By pressure, they yield.
"We must bring them down!" their metallic voices sounded.
These soldiers seem unknowingly trained.
Since birth, their souls and ethics are forever being rounded.
Their smoothness makes them dangerous.
For they roll easily down the hill, raising chaos.

Little toy soldiers with little toy guns
that their makers bestowed unto them.
Their makers aren't at fault, though it's burning in their lungs.
The smoke of greed, lust, and pride demands its fortune.
The little toy soldiers lovingly watch the beauteous coils of the fog.

Hypnotized, they have no way of knowing that it's only torture.
Their addictions, their youth, rolls in the spirals.
But, some choke and smell that the smoke is vile.

These are the soldiers of fortune,
an army that is blessed with the realization
that tradition and their makers fan the haze and offer no protection.
"We must bring them up!" our clarion sirens ring,
as we go into the field, our hands empty yet fully armed.
The weapons of this army never destroy, but encourage rebirth.
They transform hate and pestilence into love and compassion.
Until the battle has been fought, life as it should be will wane.