What Price, War
We taught our son to stand and fight
and like a viper stalk his prey,
to brave the day, embrace the night
to stay alert and join the fray.
A tent will be his new hotel,
we did not tell him war is hell.
But glory sung and battles won
with ribbons earned and heroes' fame,
the call to serve has now begun
and with this war, our age-old game.
'We pray you fight," war leaders shout,
"for we must drive those raiders out."
He works, he trains, he dons his gear,
his pride intact, he's bluff with hope;
as yet, he does not smell the fear.
He's bold and sure he's trained to cope,
but freedom's fickle flag flies high
and mocks the death rain from the sky.
And as the bombs burst near his head,
he dares not stop, he takes his stand,
while we at home compute the dead
and mothers weep throughout the land.
A soldier's pride is all but lost,
for now he numbers freedom's cost.
Dedicated to all those who serve, and to all those who wait at home, and fill the air with prayer.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment