The Best and the Worst
The best part of a hopeless war
is when it begins.
Under new helmets
the hapless and the brave
are trained to die
far away from patriotic eyes.
Mothers are sacrificed
to blood oaths,
the news is all good
initial reports, thrilling.
The worst part of war
is its ending.
Those that come home
march dead-eyed
behind ghosts.
They live now,
as if on a rifle range,
firing at undying memories.
In a newly edited past
bugles rally.
flags fly.
The violence moves on.
Beneath a movies-screen golf course,
the war still chews upon
a few salvaged bones,
though now unseen,
beneath well-kept greens.
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