1.
Remember
The human.
A curse on
The uniform.
Isn’t it enough that
He is dead?
Torn from his
Mother’s grasp.
Rent asunder,
Ripped,
Shredded,
Buried.
He shall not
Grow old….
As if he had
A choice.
Glorious dead?
There is no glory
In fear, in pain,
In cold wet clay.
They are all the same
These memorials.
Old men cry out
For the next generation
To poison.
2.
Don’t poison my boys
as we were poisoned
with dreams of freedoms
that never occur.
Heroes puddled in blood.
Monuments, graves to visit,
murals to the dead.
The notion that they
can gain by sacrificing
themselves for a nation,
as if any scrap of ground
is worth their beautiful lives.
Writers Envy 