You Weren'T Even There
Do not dare
To form poetry of war
If you weren't even there.
Do not dare
To pin the medal
to an unblooded tunic.
They have never shone in glory,
Nor, even in reflected gore,
Shown death's feast.
It is not when death releases its rigid hold,
And the jaws of those lying drop cold.
It is when, with disbelief,
They hear respect and platitudes,
And the utterance of gratitude,
And bleeding hearts are shown bare,
By those who weren't even there.
And the pals, all gone now.
They marched in rank from the field,
And looked on their lost years.
No need for prayers,
Or the false tears,
As shed by those who weren't even there.
Think on, lads, as you march past Tommy.
Eyes right,
See those who sent him.
Eyes left,
See the cost.
Futures all lost.
Job done.
And the false medals dine with their host.
They never stood in the lines.
They never died on the mines.
They never screamed at the 5.9's.
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