Mark I. Kirkmeyer


Sit down here child
Why these medals never shine
They are tainted with blood

This medal is for the minutemen
They spilled blood so long ago
To break away from British yoke

This one’s for the English and Huns
Blood red as the British coats
Who tried to keep an Empire whole

This one’s for Washington City
Burned to the ground
Because to men would not speak

This one’s for the Alamo
Hundreds dead on both sides
Because their invitation revoked

This one is for the soldiers marched
Utah to San Pasqual, and missed the fight
A trail of graves in their wake

This one is the brother’s who fought
They couldn’t agree on a moral issue
Fertilized acres with their blood

This one’s for the USS Maine
And those killed in retribution for her
Of course it was a mistake

This one’s for the men who died
Because somebody killed a Duke
The War to End all Wars

This one is for the generation
Society changed innocence lost
Bloodshed and fighting circled the globe

This is for the broken hearts
Of the loved ones of the boys
Who fell on the ridge in the HAHK

This one is for the Boys
Blood and rice splattered
Claymore mines blast

This one if for the parade
Of coffins down Main Street
That War always brings

This one is for the distant stare
Of the boy who can’t forgive
What the animal dared

This one is for the sailors
Who sailed away from loved ones
Never to be seen again

Now do you see, child
War is not surgically clean
Shiny Boots and pressed suit

War is the result of failure
When civilized communications stop
War begins

Would you go again, Boepa?
Yes, I would child
Some things are worthy

There are no winners
Only survivors
And they have all been scarred