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War Is a War Crime

Once wars were fought with sticks and stones
to flog the flesh and batter bones
and conquer lands, defending thrones -
though gods provoke, not one atones. 

The multitude (by hordes beset
with battle-ax or bayonet)
braved blades, dyed red and dripping wet -
the stains were wiped with no regret.

When raining blood, the teardrops spill,
enough to drown the daffodil
that withers in the mourning chill -
who was it said 'thou shalt not kill'?


The mad machine's now mechanized,
torment and torture legalized,
blind barbarism globalized
and wrath of demons sanitized. 

Each rival's right (whichever side)
committing holy homicide 
in names of gods diversified -
like Cain and Abel fratricide.

Above, a Drone that terrifies -
a button's pushed, a missile flies
to rip apart, to vaporize
(defending life, they fantasize).

Dismembered victims everywhere,
most, non-combatants, unaware -
a lone survivor, solitaire,
unfolding hands, too late for prayer.

Beneath the dust, a baby lies
with mouth agape, with bleeding eyes,
arrayed in death that money buys -
though warriors watch, none empathize.


The media's impervious -
in truth they're ever devious
for fear that reason's dangerous,
find every question treasonous.

Through eyes lit up like rosy sores,
embedded scribes report on wars
with tales to line the cuspidors -
the Fourth Estate? A herd of whores.

To paint the slaughter civilized,
objective news is sodomized - 
when foreign streets smoke, pulverized,
the body counts are minimized.


Big Berthas boomed in days of yore
but now the tanks spit spikes of Thor
and mortar shells like raindrops pour
upon the lands of Nevermore.

The grumble of a hand grenade
is drowned in claps of cannonade -
assorted charnel chunks lie flayed 
in battlefields where kids once played.

Somewhere a sniper's bullet flies,
somewhere a voiceless victim dies,
somewhere a famished orphan cries 
while weapons warble lullabies.

The bunker busters burst the sides
of dwellings where mankind resides 
and innocence in darkness hides -
the die is cast, but who decides?

Use cluster bombs and barrels too,
(crude critters in the wartime zoo),
to shred more souls than hitherto -
choose death en masse, avoid the queue!

The leaders lead (twelve steps behind),
enmeshed in intrigues, well enshrined -
yes, powers, business (so entwined)
pull twisted threads, ensnare mankind.


The mercenaries hack and maim
(god's creatures crippled, morally lame),
do beastly things that none will name -
well-paid for such, they feel no shame.

The napalm bombs and phosphorus
and ghastly weapons gaseous 
are scattered widely, bounteous -
behold the desert wilderness! 

Yes, Agent Orange burns slow and calm,
may leave behind a blazing palm
(or better yet, a molten mom
inside a hut)  in Vietnam.

And phosphorous… its flame so white,
exploding, falling through the night,
commemorates the Sacred Rite -
and babes in arms, thus blessed, ignite.

Cast chlorine, sarin or VX…
a lethal dose (or side effects
like blistered lungs) will serve to vex -
but death in war? No one objects…


Constructing H-bombs's arduous -
uranium, depleted thus,
can trash a tank with little fuss,
cause natal cankers, cancerous.

But doomsday warheads (dropped or thrown),
ignited, leave the sun outshone -
beneath a mass of melted stone
lies powdered ash, once flesh and bone.

When atoms split in bombs debased,
vast cities smolder, laid to waste,
a million sinless souls erased -
perhaps, one day, all life effaced.


You close your eyes but can't ignore
that body parts and bags of gore
are bursting through golgotha's door,
and strewn beyond the ocean's roar
like rotting fish that wash ashore.
 
Why can't we stop and end all war…


POSTSCRIPT
Regard the dreary death Arcade
of Armaments (a fruitful trade)
and tally up the millions made
by ghouls that raise a colonnade
of miles of missiles, weapons-grade,
in Armageddon's crazed parade,
and hide behind a masquerade
of lollypops and lemonade 
while planning new an escapade
for sending armies to invade
and loot far oil lands, unafraid
of misery and grief parlayed
until our final days cascade
into a hell no more delayed
by happenstance or luck outplayed
that leaves society decayed,
bombarded with a fusillade 
of lies upheld and truth betrayed
by pundits in the shifting shade,
and crises of the world clichéd
as sung in solemn serenade
by journalistic hacks that preyed
on wide-eyed folk in sham charade
that lulls to sleep with eyelids weighed
by tiny tears that disobeyed
to stay behind the barricade
and bathe the modern-day crusade
of war in cheers and accolade.

The bottom line? Just profits paid
for deadly sins that god forbade…

Copyright © | Year Posted 2016




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Date: 2/7/2021 12:05:00 AM
All war is wrong goes back to cave man times sorting problems with fighting the land americans stole from native americans killed over all wars over centuarys are wrong the land nothing on this earth belongscto any of us we belong to the land and land belongs to god man his own worsed enamy great write davidscott
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Date: 4/16/2017 5:39:00 PM
You are on the mark Terry. I can't understand war at all. It seems so not worth it. If our leaders would send their own children to fight and die, I might consider the possibility that war might serve some purpose, but sending and killing others' children makes no sense whatsoever.
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Date: 12/24/2016 11:42:00 AM
Wow!! Terry... I caught myself not breathing for a second or two!! I was just checking in to see how you were!!! Awesome write!! Big Hugggs. Deb
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Date: 11/23/2016 12:10:00 PM
Too true, we never learn and there always seems to be - a war to end all wars but it never comes.
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Date: 11/23/2016 8:11:00 AM
Sigh. Amazing discourse. Don't like war, don't like to read long poems, but I was severely captivated by this barrage. Thank you for sharing your well arranged thoughts. ~ john
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