War is an act perpetrated on our youth,
the ones who don't know better.
They have not lived long enough
to cry and mourn
or see lives torn
because they've not learned the truth.
It's been closed to their eyes
so they won't realize
they are fighting the rich man's war.
They're in the front lines
where the blood runs cold.
Most are the young that will never see old.
The ones riding high who don't seem to die
are the green eyed monsters that hide.
Their mouthpieces speak as rulers of the lands
because their hands are tied
with puppet strings
from monsters in the wings
whose souls have long ago died.
And so when I hear WE are fighting a war
I cry for our youth who are the we.
For they most probably will not see
what the war they fought was for?
It was all for naught.
They had never been taught
that peace can't come from a gun.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem