Song of Great War
The books they read were of the past,
of heroes charging to the last,
of native men in native lands
defeated by heroic bands
of horses, sword and flashing lance,
red tunics danced victories dance,
so when for them the bugle called
they had no fear of battles pall.
The great adventure lay before
these lambs, they flocked to go to war,
families proud to see their sons
in khaki ranks with sloping guns.
They thought they’d see them soon again,
a short sojourn to make them men,
"no man an island", stood alone,
comradery that bore them on.
with merriment and many a joke,
ever closer to death’s cloak,
then soon the rage of battles flow
engulfed them in their minion role.
A tiny speck of living dread
atop the pyramid of the dead,
the ground around them seething black
with blood and bone and pain was wracked.
The friends in arms who comfort brought
taken as death for each man sought,
the great machine of war rolled o’er
with splintering steel and deafening roar.
Widows wept and parents grieved,
lost their sons so sad deceived.
The fattened vultures in their nests
perch, profits from the dead to rest.
So singing anthems on your feet
be sure continues that deceit,
the leaders of opposing sides
wore crowns that still today divide
Don’t sing of justice, or of right,
there's nothing noble in the fight,
brave heroes all who sacrificed,
gave all they had in precious life.
Then if that multitude from death
could sing a song of the bereft,
certain would echo near and far,
“Never again friend go to war”
Copyright © Rick Howarth | Year Posted 2017
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