Ode to War, An unheeded cry of anguish Options

[Larry]

Ode to War

Earth's bones in long unending rows. Across a verdant green,
small cookie-cutter monuments, stamped by a cold machine
are marked with less than two score years. A litany of grief!
All led to death by generals, who made life's passage brief.

Young men's demise, we celebrate; their screams for life now mute.
Gunpowder’s scent rides with their souls from meaningless salute.
Long boxes full of memories decay as sorrows fade.
Sad children, dead before their time are plucked from life’s parade.

Thus, we bequeath to Mother Earth a flood of husks and gore
as we forget our yester wars and tred that path once more.
This field we plant with wasted youth. Death's pain, the only crop;
although a billion prayers are wailed. Will planting never stop?

Is there no end to strife and war? A futile exercise...
Freedom, I know, is treasure true but what of love's demise.
A million times a million years were stolen by old men
whose petty selfishness and greed sent kids to sate Death's grin.

Grey paranoid soured souls, fear filled for reasons naught,
unleashed their Judas inspired words to get their battles fought.
The dead are truly free from care; they are the only ones.
I'd rather live with peace and love than die for greed and guns.



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This was written nearly 42 years ago after I got back from Viet Nam. I re-read it every Memorial Day weekend. The world has yet to figure out how to live in peace.

Larry

[Cleo_Serapis]

Larry,

Such a poignant message in this one - hard to believe it was written shortly after I was born. There are many snapshots in this that really ring close to my heart, one of which is this:

Long boxes full of memories decay as sorrows fade.
Sad children, dead before their time are plucked from life’s parade.

An interesting couplet - I like the sad image of life's parade now gone (in reality, how sad to bear). I'm not going to get into a critique tonight - this is Memorial Day and I'm just here to say I read and enjoyed this poignant outcry of emotion and metaphor.

I will say that my favorite stanza might work best as the closing one:
Thus, we bequeath to Mother Earth a flood of husks and gore
as we forget our yester wars and tred that path once more.
This field we plant with wasted youth. Death's pain, the only crop;
although a billion prayers are wailed. Will planting never stop?

Poignant write, glad you reposted for those of us "youngins" to take in. Your message is univeral 0 sadly some things haven't changed in the four decades since this was birthed.

Best to you,
~Lori