He marched believing right was near,
That justice stood beside his gun,
A soldier shaped by flags and words,
Convinced his cause was honour won.
Yet somewhere far from shattered fields,
Men gathered calmly, dressed in black,
Drawing borders, signing names,
While young men never journeyed back.
War did not rise from earth itself,
Nor from the stars or human blood,
It came from moments, choices made,
From pride that turned the world to mud.
And those who carried war’s great weight
Were often those with least to say,
Still haunted by decisions made
In rooms so very far away.
12h ago
Jun 3, 2026 at 5:42 AM UTC
He marched believing right was near,
That justice stood beside his gun,
A soldier shaped by flags and words,
Convinced his cause was honour won.
Yet somewhere far from shattered fields,
Men gathered calmly, dressed in black,
Drawing borders, signing names,
While young men never journeyed back.
War did not rise from earth itself,
Nor from the stars or human blood,
It came from moments, choices made,
From pride that turned the world to mud.
And those who carried war’s great weight
Were often those with least to say,
Still haunted by decisions made
In rooms so very far away.
I was Inspired by the words of Ernst Jünger an officer in the German Army. I’ve tried reflects the painful contradiction between personal duty and political violence. It explores how ordinary soldiers may believe they fight for justice and honour, while wars themselves are often born from temporary human decisions made far from the battlefield. I question who truly carries the burden of war — and who decides its cost.
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