Wax Poetic


24 March, 2011 (12:00) | Wax Poetic

A soldier marches into war for someone’s future,
But he has no guarantee of his own.
A soldier will give up his own life and chance to live it,
To save everyone he loves back home.
The collective sacrifice of these mostly youthful lives,
Makes you wonder how much progress we make when one dies.
To me, that’s the travesty of war.
They’re too young to know what they’re dying for.
Uncle Sam’s fight, or big brother’s battle.
All before they get to see their own kids shake a rattle.
It would seem that the young have a higher exchange rate
than cannon fodder to slow the progression of imminent fate.
There will be less resistance from a boy without dreams,
Than a grown man who has grown to learn what it means
To kill someone, to take from another,
To feel the effects of someone losing their mother.
To see the child play, but minutes later, turn to a corpse.
To know that these are the fruits of fighting wars.
I do not think that war spelled backwards breeds a coincidence;
I believe “raw” to be an extremely appropriate adjective for these incidents.
That’s the only way to truly understand what we do
And how we should be responsible for our actions too.
Flee from the group perspective and think of the implications
We impose on those in different nations
with different lives, jobs, and skin.
With different families and friends, and religion.
Some defend their homes by giving large weapons to their sons.
We take children from their homes and give them the guns.
We train them to think it’s noble, it’s their duty, it’s just.
But these are the words of man, not in God we trust.
If I am to die, it is by God’s design.
For he has given me all that I call mine.