War
Who really knows why it explodes after sitting there silent for years? Who really counts the deadly amount of red flesh chopped off the living block? Who ever sees the depth of disease down to the bone of our cold heart-stone? Who ever stops the air-raid of thoughts that instantly kills the good that was built? Who can control the horrific flow of dark blood that seems made to make seas? Who can explain why again and again again and again again and again it always takes incredible place?
Peter Bisson
Posted at 01:57h, 28 MayThank you Greg!
Richard Grover
Posted at 09:31h, 28 MayGood questions/good questions Greg. Your reflection reminds me of a song on the hit parade some 50+ years ago….whose title/chorus kept asking “Who will answer?” Richard
Wendy McCreath
Posted at 10:31h, 28 MayYour poem reminds me of Eric Bogle and John McDermott’s The Green Fields of France, described as the best anti-war song ever written. A young man sits by the grave of a 19-year old killed in France in 1916 and ponders: ” I can’t help wondering why/Do those who lie here know why did they die?/Did they believe when they answered the call/ Did they believe that this war would end wars?/ Well the sorrow, the suffering, the glory, the pain/The killing and dying were all done in vain; For, young Willie McBride, it all happened again, and again and again and again.”