War

Youths are marching, heads held high Hear them laughing, while mothers cry. They think that war is just a game Few come back to tell its pain. The Generals come, with all their braid Planning how war will be made With the injured here, and the corpses there If you lose a limb, they don’t care. Yes! They will have blood for sure. No matter how much, there will be more. War!. The drums beat. War! Marching Feet. Kill some more. War! Real War? There are no drums to give the beat To weary marching feet. They are blistered, tired, too sore. To take just one step more. Real War? There is no little trickle of blood The rivers of red are in flood. Bones are shattered, limbs severed It does not matter; to The Cause we’re fettered. The machine guns crackle, the bullets thud And everywhere, spurts bright red blood Bodies are torn, bleeding bare Eyes wide open into Death they stare Oh Lord! Just for a single moment, wrench Me from the rotting corpses with their putrid stench. Take me back to that distant shore When there is Peace, and I am home once more. May I see a sunset red Rather than the bloodied crimson dead. May I feel soft gentle rain And not the storm of war’s raging pain. Then one day the bullets stopped There were no screams, no bodies dropped For Peace had come, though somewhat shy But it gained in strength as time passed by. Now we saw that our deadly foe Looked just the same as the friends we know. Who made us into a cruel machine That had to kill a human being? Oh God! How did it happen? Who taught the children To fight when they were men? Please, let there be no war again. Men are dancing, spirits high Hear them singing, while mother’s sigh Now they know, war is not a game The few who are back have felt its pain.