Anthony Stafford

(Atherstone, England)

Why?


the bullet leaves the rifle
it drills through summer air
past shady trees with limpid leaves
and butterflys with painted eyes
and sharp and swift it finds it's mark
and burrows down through skin and bone
and deep red blood
stains the soft earth
of Bosnia

the finger flickers on the trigger
a mind decides to fire the gun
spurred on by thoughts of retribution
for hurts and crimes already done

how can we stop the endless circle
tearing hearts and minds apart
the killing that becomes so casual
the misery that should not start
the deep soft earth now bears a flower
a poppy flutters in the breeze
generations dead for no good reason
who's victory have they seized?
 
a child stands in a summer meadow
a mother talks of long ago
when heros thought they fought for glory
dishonoured deeds of wild bravo

fatherless, what of his future
where should he go, what should he do
bearing scars through mind and body
there is no love for him.. like you

the bullet and the rifle
are memories from afar
and shady trees with limpid leaves
that shudder in a scented summers breeze
and butterflys with painted eyes
still dip and fall and dart and rise
and burrow deep for succour sweet
grown from that soft warm earth
of Bosnia

Submitted: Saturday, November 09, 2013

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©copyright Tony Stafford 1995

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