Colin F. Jones


When a single man dies, victory is lost
for our brother is not there at the end:
memories are short forgetting the cost,
the next generation will not comprehend.
But they will be wasted as those who before,
Were sent to fight in another campaign,
Believing that freedom is worth dying for;
But their sons will be doing the same.
For soldiers are numbers, robotically trained
To murder their fellow man
and are left in a heap, emotionally drained
To fend the best that they can…
Until into the past they vanish like smoke,
Blown away by histories fan