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”