Thousands lost
For no point or purpose,
Sent to their deaths
By pompous fools kept
Out of harm's way.
Enlisted men,
expendable, commodities,
Spent to purchase
A few yards of mud – worth
More than so many?
Each still corpse:
A future vanished,
A family ravaged,
And dreams undreamt;
Lost generations . . .
Each who survived:
A future blighted,
A family crippled,
A nightmare lived
For all their lifetime.
Remember those
Who gave their whole being
And think of all
Who may have been
Had they not died.
Think of conflict,
Weigh its inglorious cost,
Its pitiful gain.
In the name of all pity,
Find a better way.
Copyright © 2015 Desmond Hilary
