Colin F. Jones


When I do search for purpose, I despair,
For I see no purpose in a life which ends,
In death upon a battlefield and where,
There seems no value in what man defends.
Is it God’s will that war deny us life,
To cull the flocks lest they become too large?
Or yet in famine cripple man and wife,
Undress diseases from their camouflage?
All that is gone gives light to what we see,
Yet what we see will form another’s scene,
Upon the morrow where we will not be,
For where they go we have never been.
What faith is this in knowing we’ll be dead,
When our good sons, for God, will their blood shed?