Poem from the war zone.
PART ONE~the poem |
It’s getting harder to say In the end, who’s the winner And as the years crawl by The line keeps getting thinner. So hold on to your helmet And whisper your prayers While the man running towards you Shouts his through the air. His next life gets better, With a blast, this one ends, Now he hopes to invite you And a few of your friends And he’s got a lot more Of nothing to lose The younger the virgins The shorter the fuse It’s getting harder to tell The debris from the bodies The blast can be heard From Baghdad up to Taji Do you tackle the man With the bomb on his chest Or do you run ‘cause you know That your bullet proof vest Won’t protect you from flames Or the devil’s own eye Or a dynamite case of Self-righteous suicide. For all of their honor, Their praises resound But the war’s truest heroes Must be scraped off the ground It’s getting harder to see Through the thick consequences And the blood-stained glass Shows a crimson reflection And when it stares back At you, what do you see? A hero, a coward, A martyr-to-be? You’ve learned more of death Than life taught you before ‘Cause there’s only two ways To interpret a war: The past through the pages, The now through a mirror. Either way things are worse Than they tend to appear. |