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Poem

I stand in the forest 
Of headstones marking the fallen
Where a statue freshly erected
A monument of the proud man

I stood and watched the podium
Where Rich men made their speeches
Thanking the young and restless 
For dieing for their riches

They spoke of heroes
And valiant acts
Service to country
The young's embrace of death

As I struggled to climb
To stand on the podium
As a guest and visitor
Another pawn for their riches

I stepped toward the mic
To speak of my brothers
The valiant in life
The martyrs of our nation

I looked at the faces
Young men and women
Smiling at me
The next crop of victims

Tomorrows heroes standing in front
With heads held high
Ready to charge and kill
The next poor brown nation

I opened my mouth 
To warn the next generation
Of the hero's way of life
And the white stone that marks his monument

I spoke at last, though words left me
And stepped through the curtain
Where the blindfolded crowd
In menacing silence, awaited me

I saw futures martyrs
Skeletons of tomorrow’s dead
I told them in the hope 
Reject our father’s course-- the path to infamy

If life is to be restored 
We must burn our father’s illusions
And their bloody blade
To escape the proud delusion

There are No Heroes
Only Dead Men.

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