The Boy and The Marching Ants

The relationship between war and children

A quiet, little boy gazes out his window in awe of the painted landscape.

He stands, see-sawing a bit to the left, a little bit to the right.

He holds his composure as he studies a line of bold ants marching in the far distance, straight, symmetrical, and without flaw.

The boy teeters; the ants keep marching.

He holds his breathe in hopes it’ll make him lighter — it fails.

He falls and the sounds of the marching ants rupture the walls with such a rhythm, he swears they’re beating drums.

He opens his eyes but nothings a matter.

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