They come home at last
The living who envy the dead,
We call them heroes
They name themselves damned.
We wave our pretty flags
We arrange the gay parade,
Those who would be alone
We force to march once more.
What bloody fools we are
Blind to the shocking truth,
Our sons and Brothers
Are lost to us forever.
For us safe at home
The war is over,
To us it was not conflict
But another form of entertainment.
But what of those who fought,
Their hands stained with blood?
They where innocent when they left
Now they are old and bitter men.
They will never stop fighting
Their souls now scarred,
The memories will not die
The past will not lie.
Author notes
Wolfpoet
A contest entry
- The Battle They Can Not See by thegoldenpath.
600 points, ended May 20, 2008, 15 entries
Honorable winner
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
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