War Games

Those bitter hopes that sting one’s mind
are wishes of the futile kind
that make us restless, turn us odd
as we assume that frail facade
that we think hides our fears and doubt
about what this new world’s about.
Massive ills that strip our world
as daily missiles are unfurled
to hit those cities torn by war
 to stem the orange monarch’s roar––
his curiosity to quell
concerning this day’s nouveau Hell
unleashed upon the place he names
to be the target for his games
of fire and brimstone, bomb and gun––
war games he invents for fun!!

For The Sunday Whirl, the prompt words are: facade doubts curiosity bitter torn hit restless hope massive frail strip sting