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zee Mar 2019
Blood spilled
Tears streamed
But no matter how much you beg on your knees
That’s what war can be

The child cried as his mother’s body lied
With the building burning to ashes
Ashes to the ground, as you hear the child plea
But alas that’s what war can be

The man strangled out cries
As his dying breaths suffocated
Underneath the collapsed building, trying to flee
But alas that’s what war can be

Remember the father who starved himself so his children could eat?
Who had been stripped from his luxury?
His happiness, his love? Who wanted to be free?
Is that what war can be?

What about the brother?
Who lost his leg, saving his sister from a shooter?
What about the sister?
Who died so that her brother could survive his gun inflicted blister?

What about the children?
Who think the parents went to the store?
Only to have the parents in a Ranger’s view
Lying on the ground, blood seeping through

What about the men and women?
Lined up, not knowing their final words
Tears prickling, not being able to see
Is that what you want your people to see?

But that’s all fine
Get the victims in a line
For it’s all for honor
For it’s all for power

What do you think
Goes through the people’s heads?
Oh how great is our country,
For being torn to shreds?

Or oh it’s fine your son died,
Even if you had cried
All this bloodshed is just insignificant clatter
to such an elite matter

What about the bloodshed?
The dead families?
The orphans?
The starvation?
The pain, the agony?
The tears?
The lost homes?
The children living in fear?
The bonds broken?
Is it all worth ego?
While you bet the lives like a gambling casino?

Imagine suffocating slowly and painfully, still having so much to do
Imagine watching your mother die, right after she attended the stew
Imagine holding your child, trying hard to erase all doubt
Imagine living a life, where nothing goes right and about
Imagine seeing your school friends cry
While blood trickles from your thigh

So go on with your slaughter
But remember the mother
Every eye you made shed salty water

The sister
The brother
The father
The farmer
The doctor
The peasant
The teacher
The student

So hold your ****** weapons up high
But remember
That once blood is on the hands
it never fades or becomes dry
Terry Collett May 2014
Why do you wear
your guns back to front
in the holsters?
Helen asked me

as we walked
the bomb site
by Meadow Row
I saw this cowboy

in a film
at the cinema
have his like this
and you cross

your hands over
and get your guns
isn't it slower
that way?

she asked
no it's speed that matters
not how
you wear your guns

I said
I showed her
how quick I was
and she stood bemused

clutching her doll
Battered Betty
tightly to her chest
haven't you got

caps in your guns
to make them
sound real?
she asked

no I ran out
and anyway
I can make
the sound myself

by going
she jumped away
holding Battered Betty

to her chest
you could have told me
you were going
to make that loud

banging noise
Betty got frightened
I looked at her
tightly woven plaits

of hair
and thick lens glasses
and her small hands
holding the doll

sorry Betty
I said
patting the doll's head
I put the guns away

and we walked
to the New Kent Road
and along
under the railway bridge

and by the Trocadero cinema
gazing at the billboards
and small pictures
of films

being shown
you can come
with me here
on Saturday

I said
they've got
a good cowboy film

haven't any money
for the cinema
Mum said
she can't afford it

Helen said
my old man'll
cough up some money
if I ask

I said
she looked at me
Mum'll let me go
if you ask her

Helen said
ok let's go
ask her now
I said

so we walked
to Helen's house
and I told her
about how I practised

drawing my guns
she looked at Betty
but whether

she was listening
to me
or not
I couldn't say.

— The End —