Colin F. Jones

THEY TALK OF HELL

~ 1 ~

I feel no guilt for those who died,
They died not due to me:
They were my brothers I fought beside,
Who would with me agree.
What guilt is this; who use the dead?
Sympathy for themselves to seek;
They steal the pain from those who bled,
Who are unable now to speak.
They talk of Hell, who saw it not,
And of battles they never saw,
Pleading guilt ‘cause they weren’t shot,
In someone else’s war
I have no time for those who steal,
From those who lost it all.

~ 2 ~

If the reason why you write of war,
Is to whinge and moan and grunt,
Then you saw not half you claim you saw,
On that I’ll take a punt.
If all your words are about yourself,
Then you never had a mate,
On which to blame your current health,
Nor your current mental state.
If a soldier’s lot when he returns,
Is to keep shelling his own peas,
Then the new young soldier only learns,
From the negatives he receives.
For tears do not wash blood away,
There should be strength in one who grieves.

~ 3 ~

Then grieve old solder, sadly grieve,
But shine not your boots with tears,
For when it’s time for our sons to leave,
It will not wipe away their fears.
Stand up and be the man he is,
The man whom you once were,
Who holds his soul in an iron fist,
But is still willing to call you sir.
Look at them proudly stern and straight,
Look in their eyes awhile,
To let them know what you relate,
As a proud veteran with a smile.
For they know not of their coming fate,
In a war they’ll find as vile.