A poem about my friend, who's going off to war. Please read, rate, and/or review! |
They say he went there to fight for our country, To live free, speak what we may. That's not a consolation When you know your friend could die any day. So don't tell me to be proud, Or that it's for the “best” When I know he could be eighteen And “laid to rest”. I don't want to see pictures Of a little boy holding a gun. Could you imagine being a mother And that being your son? Watching the news and seeing The death toll increasing, And despite men lost, Violence not ceasing! I can't be proud, I'm far too scared. My childhood friend can't survive out there, And I can't sleep with the knowledge He could be bleeding in a ditch somewhere. Come back, please, you can't hurt me like this. We don't need boys to fight. The only thing that could possibly matter Is knowing that he's okay at night. But others look down on my views. Calling me selfish because I care? I go to sleep with an uncertain mind, And another horrible nightmare. As I wake up, traitorously I think I don't want free speech, Or amendments and democracy I want you, within reach. Stop saying it's for the best... Every time an eighteen year old solider Is laid to rest. |