Nancy L. Meek


We write of wars, flags and pride,
pre-emptive strikes we must abide,
along with all the righteous views,
politicians in the news,
death and dying, pain and grief,
freedoms won, however brief,
sons and daughters sent away,
armed with guns to save the day
as loved ones pray and babies grow
as fate plays out for some we know
and most we don’t, from where we sit,
clueless to the crux of it…
to life events we cannot see
on frontlines where we cannot be,
for good or bad… near or far
depending much on where we are,
shut up in our bomb-free dens,
describing war with halting pens,
here in the rear, where we belong,
distanced from the fighting throng;
for there, where bullets whizzing by
the ears of those afraid to die,
emotions we just thought we knew
eclipse and shame our cyber view;
but, still and though it doesn’t rhyme,
war is where we waste our time.