Colin F. Jones


I never saw sweet Jesus on the battle field,
Though many prayed hopeful of, his shadow for a shield,
I saw no saints no preachers no Angels from God’s realm,
There was no sacred savoir standing at the helm.
No pain was eased by miracle no bullet stopped in flight,
Though some who died prayed to him every single night.
“Where are you God!!!” some shouted but he never answered back,
As they struggled through the mud and slush along the battered track
He never came to rescue them from their living Hell,
Nor did he stop the firing and the bursting of the shell.
And when the war was over and they suffered from their scars,
Jesus was not there again to keep them from the bars,
For regardless of our thinking and despite the fact we pray,
We are tortured by reality every moment of each day.