Colin F. Jones


~ 1 ~

Sometimes even our friends judge us,
Accuse us and turn away
Some soldiers were passengers on the bus
While some of us had to pay.
But all of us chose to go to war,
Though many of us were sent;
Now we ask what it all was for,
As we falter for we are spent.
Some saw the savagery of the fight,
Others served behind an office door,
Most did what they thought was right,
But all of them went to war.
Not knowing that the real fight
Would be back on the homeland shore.

~ 2 ~

We came back, but some did not,
We came back to take the blame,
We were upon our flag the blot,
That defaced our countries name.
Long to suffer; we have grown old,
Guilt in our heart still clings,
For still the truth has not been told,
As false the church bell rings.
Yet none of it did matter much,
For in death it all will end,
No matter how long we grasp and clutch,
In despair or just pretend.
No! Nothing really matters much,
On that you can depend.

~ 3 ~

It matters not whom I recall
As being friend or foe,
Nor who they were short or tall,
Before their turn to go.
I’ve had enough of life you know,
But still it just drags on
A pointless path that ends in death,
Until we all are gone.
The constant fight against our pain,
Those we love; they suffer so,
And faith and hope does not explain,
Where our rotted bodies go.
Yet still the hype and tripe goes on,
For we think we are not to blame.

~ 4 ~

Hope does not change a thing you know,
It does not change the way we are,
It is natural that the rivers flow,
As it is for men to go to war.
Religion ensures division and hate,
Though we prefer to live the lie,
As we die as soldiers for the state,
In denial asking why.
To fear death is to live in hope,
That there is something more,
But those soldiers who accept it as their fate,
Know what they are dying for.
Not for God; for King nor mate,
But because they were ordered off to war.