Sacrifice Poem by Dylan Attard

You say I don't know what its like to make a sacrifice,
While a ten-year-old child walks twenty miles a day to get his mother rice,
To feed his brothers and sisters that night.
When children cry because their parents fight.
When I see my own brother fall because his pride's too high.
When the cost for freedom is to watch other men die.
Why is service to your country to fight in a war?
A war where we don't even know who we are fighting for,
Or against.
Or with.
In a country with a language we don't understand.
They pick you off the street and put a gun in your hand.
Tell you to shoot him or they will shoot her.
Your princess, your lady, clad in golden fur,
And you're forced the make the choice,
Because they won't let you speak out,
They've taken your voice,
Without a word or a doubt,
I start to see Christ up on the cross again.
Looking out over the world,
Which caused him so much pain.
The nails are driving into His hands.
And finally I get to understand.
I know what it is like to make a sacrifice.
Payment is due.
There is nothing you can do.
Now give me all you've got,
Before I torture you.
I want it all.
Up here on the cross,
Feeling ten feet tall.
Riding high cause I feel no pain.
My blood pours down like pouring rain.
I'll wash away the sins of the earth.
Come again and again, birth after birth.
Burning fires against a paper-thin hearth,
But they just don't listen anymore,
Because the Ipod's in their ears are an easy bore,
They drill the holes in the hearts of the ones you love.
And He hangs there still high, high above.
Tears in his eyes as he finally dies.
Now I know what it means to make a sacrifice.