The Conscripted Son

The conscripted son 
in his hand....... 
the unwanted gun 

Some were willing....... 
Some didn't want the killing 
Wasted years 
So many tears 
They answered the call 
So many to fall............ 

The means to an end 
More boys to send...... 
They cannot see why 
They are sent to die 

The conscripted son, 
in his hand, 
the unwanted gun 
Blood spilling on the sand 

So many came....... 
So many died.......... 
They knew the country's name......... 
Rhodesia's fame 
Spread far and wide 

But now all is lost........ 
Was it worth the final cost? 
So many to die........... 
They never found out why 

Wounded inside 
Scarred outside 
Battles won 
Wars lost 
Lost son 
The final cost 

The sense of duty 
Misused 
Abused 
No one won 
Everyone lost a son
Copyright © | Year Posted 2007

Poem

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