Damian Cranney (27/09/1949 / Liverpool)
In a cold bleak field, a soldier lay dying.
There were others around him, Who also were crying,
The medics had already tried to gain ground,
But the incessant chatter of maxims and mausers,
That chewed up the grass and the mud all around,
kept the bravest of brave, from risking his trouscrs,
And the dying from living, or their mothers from Sighing.
There have been so many wars Since then,
And it always requires the death of brave men,
The brave politicians, of course take great risks,
A successful conflict can enhance their career,
But if it goes wrong, he might lose that post,
That would give him an extra big pension to boast.
He certainly won't have to think about death,
In a field were those Young men, gasp out their Last breath.
Whatever happened to the war to end wars,
A whole generation Swore, that never again,
Would nations commit to a spurious cause,
Were their young died before they were men,
But people are all very easily fooled,
And hatred is very easily fueled
Remember this principle and use it to judge,
The cause is not right if there's anyone dead.
From the Rhetoric spoken, by those that have led,
Comments about this poem (Bleak Fields by Damian Cranney )
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