War Poem by Oliver Clarke

When I awoke, it was there waiting,
They had already spoke, and are still creating,
Start to finish, blood is spilled,
The letter has been sent, the envelope sealed.

We don’t see the reality, the full harsh effect,
It’s only for the best, just done to protect,
That’s what they say, until this very day,
When will they say, what’s really at bay.

A suit for some purpose, it is not worth,
Joining the dead circus, intention only to serve,
For queen and country, we will die for,
But when will they comply,
And admit we’re at war.

Transport made by the minute,
Yet a death within seconds,
Gargle on the gas fire lit,
Just leaves chance for man to beckon.

Mother please rescue me,
Cried agony after man fades,
I need your eyes to see for me,
A man’s mind replaced with a hidden child made.

You sit behind your desks, claim you know not of this,
Well all you have created, is one more marked wrist,
Shuffle your paper; it’s ridden with blood,
Like boots of the war slaves, suffocated in mud.

Devour young spirits, but your toy guns can kill,
If man chooses not to fight, then that is his will,
Place a gun in man’s hand, and watch his age shrink,
Scream out for his mummy, mind too young to think.

Mushroom cloud formed in my mind,
Does this differ from that of a bomb,
Scolded bodies still survive,
But cannot move on,
You play your games,
Sat behind glass,
They weren’t protected from aims,
Or the bomb formed from brass.

You’ll feed children with ammunition,
Dress like a soldier with his friends,
A memory to remember,
A child can pretend.

But when he signs the devils deed,
From what he will be able to feed,
Is your need for money passed by death for greed.

So a child may play dress up,
But when he chokes upon,
His friend’s final gasping breath,
It is you that will know, that a childs ghost can live on.

You seem to find no fault, in pulling the trigger,
But you’re a thousand miles away; you don’t see the face it will figure,
Child, or man, who knows anymore,
This is our world,
And our world is at war.