TWO PEOPLE

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