Colin F. Jones

THROUGH THE DIRTY WINDOW

Like the Mississippi toxic river; water for the poor,
We meander through history soaked with the blood of war,
Some dying in the mud before they are old enough to say,
All you educated people know not the proper way.
Oh you know how to talk a lot; feel sorry; show regret,
But more truthful is your idleness; you have done nothing yet.
Contagious PTSD seems to have crept across the Earth;
Many who do not suffer enjoy its beneficial worth.
Are we hiding then the truth behind the racist word?
Muslims serving in a Christian Army is so foolish and absurd.
They’re not brainwashed like the black man to serve the Christian God,
Nor have they carved their loyal soul into the great American sod.
Are they planting seeds and sowing them for a future time
When many groups like sour grapes will be hanging from the vine?

Is it not a religious gathering at the cenotaph every year?
When we remember the fallen; shed for them a tear.
When we veterans having marched stand sweating in the sun,
While some preacher and politician blesses battles lost and won.
And the enemy the Muslims, (and we Christians do the same),
Give thanks to their Gods for war is fought in their name.
Yet we fear to make distinctions lest as racists we are named,
Even though the history of our kind is there to be explained.
We build monuments to soldier’s to Generals and to Kings,
Call them all our hero’s and give the devils Angel’s wings,
But we seldom if ever remember the millions of people killed,
In the chaos of the battles that caused their innocent blood to be spilled.
For none cry for the children the women and the old,
Who were slaughtered by the soldiers while doing as they were told.