You Weren’t Even There
Do not dare
To form poetry of war
If you weren’t even there.
It’s like pinning a campaign medal
To an unblooded tunic
That has never shone in glory
Nor even, in reflected gore,
To show death’s feast.
It is not when death releases its rigid hold
And the jaws of those lying, hang cold.
It is when, with disbelief ,
They hear respect and platitudes,
And utterance of gratitude.
And bleeding hearts are shown bare
By those who weren’t even there.
And the pals are all gone now.
They marched in rank from the field
And looked upon their lost years.
No need for tears
As shed by those who weren’t even there.
Think on lads, as you march past Tommy.
And look right now and see those who sent him.
Now, look left.
See the price that was paid.
Author Notes: Please add.