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Jul 2016
As the wars wore on, the bodies were counted.
Generals and privates, ideals undaunted.
Faces with eyes unable to see,
Turning away, fearing to flee.
       And the drums rolled on
       Boom      Boom      Boom


Wrinkled old men cursing the wars,
Squatting on knees unbearably sore.
Starving young children, bellies distended
Praying for peace when all wars have ended.
       And the drums rolled on
       Boom      Boom      Boom


Windows and doors broken and boarded.
Vision of riches jealously hoarded.
Windows and doors bordered in gold.
Words of obscure meaning by liars are sold.
       And the drums rolled on
       Boom      Boom      Boom


Proud tall trees, symbols of might
Stripped of their beauty, alone in the night.
Spiders in holes, hermits in caves
Escaping the wars.
But who will they save?
       And the drums rolled on
       Boom      Boom      Boom


Plague in the cities, stench from the rot,
Kills all the honest, feeds who are not.
Churches and parks forgotten and lonely.
Beauty and love, uselessly homely.
       And the drums rolled on
       Boom      Boom      Boom


Dancing in graveyards, singing of wealth
Satan’s disciples bring only dark death.
Rising from evil, blackening the sun,
Clouds of the wars that can never be won.
       And the drums rolled on
       Boom      Boom      Boom


Black hooded monks ringing the bells,
Tell of the death, the hatred, the hell.
The four horses speed on, their hoofs tear the ground;
Their riders are grim -- their destiny bound.
       *And the bell tolled once.
               Gong
               and                       stopped.
1969 or so, at the height of the Vietnam war, but it could have been written today or anyday.
Scott Sinnock
Written by
Scott Sinnock  Palisade, CO
(Palisade, CO)   
330
 
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