Art of Blood Sports

 Art of Blood Sports

Never served, too many already eating that grit

My daddy was a nurse, general’s aide forever PFC

Found out later, he really was a dandy man

Made no difference to me, I didn’t score that play

Knew too many that ate blood guts and gore

Smiled with rotted teeth, scars that do not heal

Smell of cheap whiskey with cloudy eyes

Streets are full of the forgotten heroes dying alone

I’ve known my own hell too

Though self constructed

Just as real to me you see

As age has taken most of my capacity

Them are all gone

Time is not kind

The wheel grinds

Their memories fade

And still old fat bastards play games

Churn the milk of human kindness

Not sweet cream butter for bread

But rotting bodies on the killing fields

JD