Thunderclouds pass to reveal the sun,
But pools of water still remain,
A shot is heard from a soldier’s gun,
As another falls in dampened pain
Disfigured bodies lay in the field
All but recognized by their friends in life
What was this day supposed to yield?
A hilltop, a valley, a mourning wife?
Tanks and artillery play their own song
To faceless targets with receiving ears
The instruments know no right from wrong
Yet play louder and louder to increasing fears
Each side feels the same of the war
And at each other they’ll continue to strike
Whene’er they feel needs to even the score
They ignore the fact that they’re so much alike.
When will man notice his greatest mistake
That problems are solved in life and not death
How many centuries could it possibly take
To lay down our weapons and not save our breath?
And . . .
“Amid The Light”
The secret dreads,
The bloodied heads
Buried deep beneath the garden
The way they bled,
The forgotten dead
Would make the weak man harden.
Their sins were few,
Their hearts were true
Though their cause was not the best
Their commanders knew
When the battles grew,
That here they’d be laid to rest
They placed the blame
(Those who came)
Upon their enemy’s deed
Instead of the game,
Which deserves no name
That caused their children to bleed
They forget their sorrow,
And the salute of twenty-one guns,
Scream the moms,
“Drop the bombs!”
On other mother’s sons.
Around the bend,
Perhaps an end
To the ceaseless petty fight,
But now we send
Our son and friend
To blind deaths amid the light.