The Price Of War
War is no one’s friend
It smiles with fire, and devours to the end.
It begins with banners, chants, and threats,
But it ends in silence, graves, and tears.
We know how it starts, loud, proud, precise.
But who knows the cost? Who pays the price?
Not just soldiers who fell in line
But children, parents, souls divine.
War wears no badge of guilt or grace,
It strikes the good and bad in equal place.
Angels fall beside the damned,
Both consumed by a wrath unplanned.
There are no victors in a war’s cruel game,
Only scorched earth and forgotten names.
Even the “winner” kneels at night
Haunted by shadows that once knew light.
It plants no roses, sows no seed,
It feeds on bones, it drinks from greed.
The streets that danced with joy and song
Now echo screams, echoes so long.
It ends, they say, but does it, really?
When hearts stay cracked and souls bleed freely?
What takes decades to build with care,
Takes minutes to raze in anger’s glare.
It’s easier to break than to mend,
To make an enemy than find a friend.
So what’s the show of power for,
If all it breeds is death and more?
Whether we conquer or fall in the fray,
We’ll all lie breathless one cold day.
No crown, no gun, no war-torn land
Can follow us to judgment’s stand.
Copyright ©
Victor Ernest Osong
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