Colin F. Jones


~ 1 ~

This act of violence; this mass of duels,
This force to impart our will;
This horror that rouses repugnance,
This hostile intention to kill;
This war to dismantle resistance,
To take the weapons of the foe away;
To make him conscious of his nakedness,
That all resistance will decay.
This instinctive passion for violence,
Harnessed by controlling law,
For war is never fought in isolation,
It is always linked to what has gone before,
Reviving the hatreds of the past,
That have long been a festering sore.

~ 2 ~

War never brings absolute victory,
The festering sores will never heal,
The vanquished will bide their time,
For a more favourable time to appeal.
Those who have fought it suffer forever,
Forever being the lifetime they lease,
For there are few who reap from it pleasure,
At war’s end the battles increase.
Think not young soldier of fortune,
That killing begins and ends in a day,
For age will beckon the gloom,
To visit your mind, intending to stay.
To the unlucky ones death came too soon,
But the survivor finds it useless to pray.