"War Has No Hero"

Poetic senses do not soldiers make,
For when one battle ends a new one awaits.
War pleads its purpose to play land against land,
While brutality breeds in its well beaten hands.
Bandages woven in war won’t undo,
The waste and indecency soldiers trod through.
Our senses they reel of the slander that’s made,
Whence men do mature and boast peace for Christ’s sake.
Where art the honor found after the siege,
When it’s by a grave or a bedside we weep?
Where peace need be made, ‘tween one side or another,
Why not host a duel; whereby one might recover? 
Accepting I must, knowing still we’ve not learned,
That true heroes are made when no war is returned.