Posted: November 10, 2014 in Uncategorized

She hasn’t changed the room at all since brave Gary left for war,
Every day she looks through the window, hope in her heart,
But that hope is fake,
Because that hope was dashed long ago,
“Missing in Action, presumed dead”, they said
But she still dreams amongst her tears.

Was it worth it? She wonders,
Was it worth my boy’s life?
For the oil, for the ideals, for this, for that?
There will be no funeral,
His bedroom still waits for the young soldier to return,
His mother still hopes.

War, you see, is started by governments,
But fought by children,
War, you see is politicians “protecting us”,
While they sit in their ivory towers and watch as the servants of democracy become it’s martyrs.

War, war is judgment, it’s right and wrong, it’s black and white,
It’s kill or be killed,
Peace is love and acceptance, peace is no conflict,
Peace is children growing to adulthood.

The woman in this piece of prose was not just from 1917 in the south of England, she is in Afghanistan, she is in Iraq,
She is in every poppy.

War, what is it good for?
Is it a necessary evil?
Or is it just evil?


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