Nancy L. Meek


Can you not sense the helplessness, the hopelessness;
The pure and unrelenting feeling of defeat?
Can you not hear the woeful, plaintiff, guttural cries
Of men mourning buddies lying at their feet?

Good men and bad men die by the fall of the dice
Whether ordinary or extraordinary men.
Both are chosen by war’s insidious device
Leaving behind no rhyme to comprehend.

Created by man, the weapons of war
Are designed specifically to maim or kill.
Doing their deeds without asking, “What for?”
They merely answer, precisely, to man’s will.

It is not merely a matter of destiny or fate
Which draws the war weapon’s fire,
But, man’s overwhelming desire to sustain hate.
To maintain the flames of a satanic pyre.

Until the desire for peace fills every heart,
Until we each are determined to do our all,
Declare that from thoughts of war we will depart,
There will be victims who will suffer and fall.

It might be you or me, or someone whom you love
Who will taste first-hand war’s vile kiss of death.
Somewhere today, someone’s looking down from above
On someone who was killed by war’s foul breath.

You may see it covered on the evening news and say,
“Thank God that’s not happening over here!”
But, it could be! Maybe tomorrow or even today.
Are you willing to lose those whom you hold dear?

Tell me; are you apathetic because it isn’t you
Dying so very far away, whom death has come to call?
What will it take for all to see the soldier’s point of view?
Another war? Can you not see the handwriting on the wall?