Men, boys really, subject to the will of their government.
Young, virile, the perfect soldier.
Ready to have his humanity ground away.
No matter the location to be airdropped into,
War will be there to erode his sanity, even his own morals.
The loved ones he held so dear back home.
Now fly and flutter out the windows opening.
No matter the nation, the man, the morals, the goal,
The soldier will always be the one.
Who greases the great wheels of war,
With their sweat blood and decay.
With the kings and dictators,
Presidents and prime ministers,
All vying to win a war,
While sitting in their ivory towers.
Barking out orders to generals
to be barked in turn to peons.
This shall go on for eons of millennia
As it always has.
©BAS
