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On a quiet, cold night in January,

as the moon shone softly down;

a rumble rolled off in the air,

and shook the very ground.

Perhaps, you’ve read about it,

this unexpected war;

that tore so hard, it broke in half,

the world I had before.

It seems the battle started,

over who was better than who;

which one was right and justified,

and the rest of them were screwed.

It lasted but a moment, time wise,

this vicious nasty brawl;

a mushroom cloud of hatred,

leaving bitter ashes fall.

Now, it seems so futile,

to worry about the morn;

for the Battle of Fort Walton,

has left my family torn.

And I exist on paper,

but my heart is torn in twain;

for my little darling Lexy,

is from my life again.

Look my friends toward Florida,

I’m sure you’ll see the cloud;

but if not you’ll hear them,

voices harsh and loud.

Screaming of their righteousness,

demanding due respect;

blame and reason are not here,

and logic they reject.

No matter who pushed the button,

unring the bell I cannot;

ash and smoke fill up the sky,

and air is crisped and hot.

Somehow we’ll suffer through this,

but, the scars are oh so deep;

to think it started with a word,

now none of us can sleep.

We battle onward vainly,

to try and bridge this gap;

but, as one warlord put it,

I’m “really full of crap”.

So, gather up your family,

keep them safe and warm;

and pray to God for Mercy,

that you’ll not be so torn.