War Drums Poem by C Richard Miles

Doom! Doom! Doom!
Wild war drums shake the ground
And tyrannise once-tranquil streets
With stirring, martial sound

Stamp! Stamp! Stamp!
A thousand, marching feet
Re-echo loud the strong refrain
Of that compulsive beat.

Thump! Thump! Thump!
Persuades the sounding drum
That mingles with the bugles’ blare
And bids the marchers come.

Cheer! Cheer! Cheer!
Urge on the pressing crowd.
As volunteers take up the task
To do their country proud.

Charge! Charge! Charge!
As warriors go to war
Intent upon the “noble” cause
That they are fighting for.

Roar! Roar! Roar!
The aircraft’s engines sound
As eagle-sighted spotters scan
For foes upon the ground.

Blaam! Blaam! Blaam!
With mortal mortar fire
The enemy is strafed and scorched
In an infernal pyre.

Whirr! Whirr! Whirr!
As rapid rotors ring,
The helicopter gunships fire –
Undiscriminating.

Wail! Wail! Wail!
The orphaned children cry,
Minds scarred for life, as “safe” at home
They saw their loved ones die.

How? How? How?
In blasted, broken land
Collateral-damaged, strife-torn souls
Struggle to understand.

Hate! Hate! Hate!
Insinuates a voice
That calls the victim to fight back:
Is there no other choice?

Stalk! Stalk! Stalk!
Reprisal troops repeat:
It’s “eye for eye” and “life for life” –
Revenge must seem so sweet.

Crack! Crack! Crack!
Barks out the sniper’s gun
To terminate too soon a life
With nineteen summers run.

Howl! Howl! Howl!
Cries out the dying lad –
Too late to contemplate the days
That he has never had.

Trudge! Trudge! Trudge!
It’s hard to keep the pace
As bleeding bodies scattered round
Are carried back to base.

Splash! Splash! Splash!
Through dismal, driving rain
Repatriated, coffined corps
Of dead come home again.

Drip! Drip! Drip!
Tears drown a mother’s breast
As silent, strapping, soldier son
Is slowly laid to rest.

Weep! Weep! Weep!
At night, when all alone –
Yet grief will still not bring him back
Who lies beneath that stone.

Ache! Ache! Ache!
Though many years have past
And flowers have faded on the graves,
The memories still last.

“When? When? When? ”
A weary nation cries,
“Will come the hoped-for, promised hour
When the last soldier dies? ”

Soon! Soon! Soon!
Must come the time of peace
When enmity and hate shall end
And wasteful war shall cease.