War-what an utter waste of human beings |
Two people born thousands of miles apart Neither chose the men Who called themselves their leader One day those leaders became annoyed They no longer just used words Instead they resorted to threats Then they shared those threats With people who were paid to hate Hate begets hate! It dances with pride and vengeance Soon there was no room for anything But hate. Their leaders then built on that hate Their armies fed upon that hate Soon their entire country started to hate This hatred continued to spread Until the only way this hatred could stop Was to have the killings start Like two gigantic mountains Hatred seeped down from their very peeks Sliding slowly down to the depths of its valleys Killing everything it touched Soon there was no room for anything But death. People were excited Those who made guns and bullets Those who made planes and ships Bombs and tanks and chemicals These people all made money Those who made uniforms and medals Rations and flags and patriotic songs Those who made body bags and coffins Painkillers, stretchers and sold newspapers Soon there was no room for anything But money. Poison rose quickly from the valley floor It destroyed all the beautiful trees It blackened the once blue skies It killed frightened animals and birds It destroyed crops and made food scarce It wrenched two men from their families Strangers who lived thousands of miles apart It put them in uniform. It trained them to kill It introduced these strangers Into this hateful theatre of war Soon there was no room for anything But fear. These two strangers never met eye to eye Because there were people cleverer than them People who had been thinking cleverly about killing It was such a waste of time and resource To sneak up on a stranger and shoot them So they brought in Death by planes and ships By missiles and bombs which could destroy thousands Thousands could be murdered by one massive explosion! Invisible gas could strangle battalions Awful contents of a test tube was more effective than a rifle Soon there was no room for anything But carnage There are now two widows Who live thousands of miles apart Each has a gleaming medal and a proud photo Of their late husband displayed on a mantel They both tell loving stories of these men To their children who don’t understand Why the memory of their father fades As their leaders remain alive on TV Still casting their poisonous words of hate While their fathers have vanished with stories of love Soon there is no room for anything But tears by David Peter Robertson |