Battlefields

Temporary grave of an American machine-gunner ...

A bloody battlefield when all is done.

Piles of humans, not other evils.

Dying, bleeding men, who fought for no end.

The war is over, but they can’t go home.

A body bag and a coffin await.

Fierce struggles punctuated with no rest.

They die exhausted, the meaning of “all.”

Everything given, and so much taken.

The life of a hero not respected.

Forget cautions or selfish behavior.

The pugilist with no fist, just a scream.

A battle cry, and the momentum shifts.

When human desire outweighs the fear.

So much loss. Everyone’s dead. Must drive on.

Winning battles for the crown, the homeland.

For politicians who sit on their thrones.

And never blink an eye. Angered at loss.

Send them to fight and war would be prissy.

A slap in the face. Insolence. Disrepute.

Pulling hair. “Oh no you didn’t.” Not war.

Who better to sacrifice than the poor?

They fight because we give them nothing here.

That we may have more and fulfill our greed.

Intolerable loss. And for what? This?

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s