War Poem by Carolyn Brunelle

She was barely 17; he 21,
they fought and thought
at the end of WWII,
ALL wars would be done.

Boomer babies came like the sea
from a soaring post-war economy,
with joy unbridled, hope regained;
the world would never go to war again.

It broke their hearts
their sacrifice a mere beginning
of conflicts and pain;
a country revisiting its need for war
again and again and again.

Are we to live forever
by death’s sour dirge,
economy bankrupted
in the war machine purse?

Where are all the peacemakers? ? ? ?
Are they still hungry like the people
for lasting peace and good will
or are they politically fat and satisfied,
feeding well up on the hill?

Perhaps they, too, have all gone away
leaving generations to mourn and pray;
continue to fight, to die, and pay
for their never ending wars of the day.