The Flames Of War Poem by Nathan Kraft

Why does the flame of war still burn?
In the villages of pictures and words?
Because here the skies will not even hold a bird
Since we destroyed her home.
We solemn few that march here are still soldiers
That will forever continue with our endless slaughter.

For the villages we pillage means hundreds to slaughter
And the ones we miss we’ll leave to burn.
That is of course not our main target, but the soldiers
That come before, and silencing peoples words.
And not a single living creature will recognize their home
Because we let nothing live, not even a bird.

And over head our war machines soar like a bird
Dropping hundreds of pounds of explosive to the slaughter
On top of our enemies very own home.
And we don’t care; we hope the whole damn place would burn.
But those are simply a war machines words
And we are merely pawns known as soldiers.

So we march through your streets as soldiers
Proudly displaying our countries great bird.
And to you, we can’t even be described with words
Until you hear of our work and devastating slaughter.
And on the television the human bodies burn
As you watch us ransack another man’s home.

And we believe we’re good guys until we come home
To hear that the biggest insult alive is us, soldiers.
And our flag that we would die for we watch in the street, burn.
Our tears spill like oil onto the wings of a bird.
Rubbing in our face the death we caused, the slaughter,
Like we wanted to kill so many, but we will never say a word.

Because our hearts cannot be described with words.
All we ever wanted was to come home.
The people on the television were not the only ones going to slaughter,
Because a lot of the times at the other end of our guns were soldiers.
When they died I prayed their souls be taken up by white birds,
But to some people where I come from, would rather see them burn.