Nancy L. Meek


It’s hard to think of naught
but war waiting in the wings
of the many who’ll be caught
in the song inhumanity sings

Its tune scooping bits of hell
onto shovels of the damned
urine, vomit, and feces’ smell
but the first chorus slammed

Its odor mingling with flesh
burnt and charred past hope
wafting with carnage afresh
“Mother!” rung from his throat

Its melody swinging to the beat
of sweet peace and liberty for all
but not for the dead in the heat
swelling beyond mental recall

It’s your brother who lay there
the savior who keeps you free
while you wonder what to wear
or what movie you will see

It’s the war song no one knows
but those who’ve been there before
hard to think, but that’s how it goes…
this chorus of blood, guts and gore