Colin F. Jones

~ God and War ~

~ 1 ~

Nobody cares you know; they say they do
But what they say is just for them not you
They pat you on the back and say they care,
But when you really need them, they’re not there.
Those who love you soon grow old and die,
And in your sadness no one can tell you why,
All they do is preach what they don’t know,
Then turn from you and walk away and go,
And there you lie alone dead in your grave,
And few will ever know that you were brave,
A few like me who loves your memory still,
Knowing our dreams we never will fulfil…
I don’t want flowers on my coffin when I die,
Nor the trespass of a preacher where I lie.

~ 2 ~

How many of you have been where children die?
How many of you do more than talk and cry?
Feeling sad for dying children has no use,
It shows that you are vain and so obtuse.
Each time you lift your spoon a child cries,
Each time you throw a scrap away one dies.
Yet you condone that soldiers wage their wars,
Through the streets, where children starve in scores,
And all you say is “Oh! How sad the scene”,
Strewn with bodies rotting and obscene.
Oh what pathetic folk the righteous are,
As they swig their grog at the local bar,
Ever complaining about their awful lot…
Forever claiming what they haven’t got.

~ 3 ~

Upon whom doth God cast his sorrowed eyes?
Is it upon the affluent and their highs?
Or is it upon the children in the streets,
Or upon the famine that continually repeats,
Where children die of hunger and disease,
Begging, begging from their crippled knees?
Why do we think that heaven is ours to claim,
Ours because we say we praise Gods name?
Are we exempt from doing what we can,
To help the children of our fellow man?
How God must think “What hypocrites they are”
Who use his name to polish their own star…
For all they do is talk but feel no shame
While basking in the light of their Lord’s fame.

~ 4 ~

We cry for the soldiers we have lost,
But seldom do we count the real cost,
The babies butchered in their Mothers’ arms,
The bits of bodies attracting flies in swarms,
The old folk dead in their rocking chairs,
Stripped by napalm of their skin and wares;
The homeless children bewildered and forlorn,
No rice, no pumpkin, no thriving golden corn.
Just devastation, death and blood and gore,
What have these children done to deserve this war?
And when it’s ended and the soldiers go on home,
To leave the crippled starving children on their own:
Who cares? Who cares… if they live or die?
Not us!! For it is for our vanquished soldiers that we cry.

~ 5 ~

I do not have the answers; I am poor,
Though I do not greed and mine is an open door,
Yet corporations who make billions every day,
Selling arms to the foe, so long as they can pay,
Do nothing for the suffering and the pain,
Because from such charity there is no monetary gain.
The Vatican alone has the means to save the lives,
Of millions of starving children so deprived;
It is not just Governments that waste a billion or two,
What happens to the millions the Churches take from you?
A so-called movie “Star” earns in a single day,
Enough money to keep a week’s famine for a hundred at bay,
If you were God, which people would you choose,
To invite to heaven; and which folk would you refuse?