I can remember the killing,
the slaughter of many humans,
seems like a game we played.
To pass go we must injure kill,
we must do this many times,
for only cowards end up in jail.
I remember the work of men,
the years of craft and labour,
broken, ruined, undone by us.
Game of risk, country damaged,
prisoners taken, pride injured,
its reputation now destroyed.
I can remember the body bags,
the screams, sounds of dying;
comrades dead and injured.
Families left distraught, grieving,
little girls, little boys, no father,
wife broken, the distress of loss.
But I cannot remember the why,
see the reason for good men to
murder, like men of other nations.
Innocence should die, but it does
not happen, for in war camouflage,
and ignorance obscure the truth.
Bob Blackwell
11-11-11
Every year we remember but wars continue. Why!
The dark shades within this great piece of poetry seem to bring us to experience the light! So much enjoyed this strong write Bob.