Colin F. Jones


All wars are distant to the folk at home,
Yet might they be a moment on the phone,
Or in the eyes of their returning sons,
Who bring back with them morbidity and guns.
Distance keeps them ignorant and calm,
For distant wars seem not to do them harm,
Yet from the fields of battle seeps the blood,
Of dying soldiers defending all that’s good,
Staining all the windows of their homes,
Building in the cemeteries dull gray stones.
The Scarlet shields hang on every wall,
For distant wars are not far away at all,
For if you listen you will hear the drums
That beat to marching soldiers and their guns.