Love And War








Love And War banjo stories
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Autoplay OFF   •   6 months ago
#8 in my Phobia Series. Originally, I wrote this for my siblings though I am not so sure now. A poem about 'gerascophobia'. Thank you. :) <3

Love And War

G E R A S C O P H O B I A

G E R A S C O P H O B I A is the fear of growing up.

'All's fair in love and war',

'All's fair in love and war', we repeat our stolen mantra

'All's fair in love and war', we repeat our stolen mantra as we frolick about,

'All's fair in love and war', we repeat our stolen mantra as we frolick about, daylight crumbling into ashes.

Our cogs, like cold clockwork

Our cogs, like cold clockwork have been rusted for these few moments

Our cogs, like cold clockwork have been rusted for these few moments and we play near the frontline;

Our cogs, like cold clockwork have been rusted for these few moments and we play near the frontline; potholes of pain eagerly avoided.

Just myself,

Just myself, and my comrades

Just myself, and my comrades against an earth wizened

Just myself, and my comrades against an earth wizened by tall tales

Just myself, and my comrades against an earth wizened by tall tales and spoonfed spiels,

Just myself, and my comrades against an earth wizened by tall tales and spoonfed spiels, with grenades of greed along the way.

There is no blood on our hands,

There is no blood on our hands, solely mud that we craft to

There is no blood on our hands, solely mud that we craft to build up our barricades,

There is no blood on our hands, solely mud that we craft to build up our barricades, immortalised

There is no blood on our hands, solely mud that we craft to build up our barricades, immortalised in our bricks and mortar

There is no blood on our hands, solely mud that we craft to build up our barricades, immortalised in our bricks and mortar with our fists unclenched.

Throughout our camp,

Throughout our camp, whispers of rebellion

Throughout our camp, whispers of rebellion spread like wildfires,

Throughout our camp, whispers of rebellion spread like wildfires, it is an ingrained hope

Throughout our camp, whispers of rebellion spread like wildfires, it is an ingrained hope when the words hang between us:

Throughout our camp, whispers of rebellion spread like wildfires, it is an ingrained hope when the words hang between us: 'we don't have to grow up.'

'we don't have to grow up.'

We don't have to grow up.

We don't have to grow up. Let's stay in our make-shift camps,

We don't have to grow up. Let's stay in our make-shift camps, let the unspoken reality wash away like the future

We don't have to grow up. Let's stay in our make-shift camps, let the unspoken reality wash away like the future so that we may stay as we are.

'As we are',

'As we are', we repeat.

As we are.

Our new mantra

Our new mantra upon this battlefield.

But the sky collapses soon,

But the sky collapses soon, (its wounds are too many),

But the sky collapses soon, (its wounds are too many), a shrill whistle beckoning us towards the front line.

'One day', we say,

'One day', we say, abandoning dandelion fields

'One day', we say, abandoning dandelion fields for scarred land,

'One day', we say, abandoning dandelion fields for scarred land, 'they'll swing the shovel

'One day', we say, abandoning dandelion fields for scarred land, 'they'll swing the shovel o'er our heads.

'One day', we say, abandoning dandelion fields for scarred land, 'they'll swing the shovel o'er our heads. But let these moments live on

'One day', we say, abandoning dandelion fields for scarred land, 'they'll swing the shovel o'er our heads. But let these moments live on in sepia swirls.'

'One day,

'One day, we'll have to grow up.'

*** Swing the banjo — use a shovel, especially in a vigorous way.

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