The soldier can not always be fighting
There must have been a time before the fray
When the man’o war was a child running barefoot over land without mines
There must have been time for rest
Time for lunch
Time for bed
The fighting man must still dream at night, of *** and flying and the boogeyman as I do
He must have taken up his own arms
Dressed in his own clothes for the day
Let his own legs carry him eastwards
******* his own head on straight
The man inside the camouflage still combs his hair in the morning
Telephones his mother to ask about the recipe
Tries to lose the last of his gut before summer brings the beach back into popular culture
The soldier too shall die
Die victim and perpetrator and ghost of state sanctioned fury-for-a-cause
Fury-for-a-sons-life, mother dearest
Load him up! Send him off! We shall turn your boy into a man! We shall give him honour! We shall carry his body home from the field on the back of a friend!
The fighting man in his bloodlust
Turns out to be nothing more than any other son
Loaded into a gun
Shot across the field
Into the face of a history who will call him Soldier
Into the face of the mother who will call him Little One at the funeral
Who will wail and and weep and tear the flag
The mother of war knows best the sting of the gun
The sting of the soldier in her arms

I live inside walls of breeze blocks,
Concrete and cinder halls.
My enemies live on the other side.
We meet sometimes—
to negotiate cease-fires
between cigarette breaks.

Still, while he offers peace,
he sets up artillery.
I ready my firearm.
She rings the bomb alarm.
The Luftwaffe ricochets—
while he prays...

He is more religion than a man.
She, more hurricane than a woman.
And I—something like a child.
Only the old and the unkind
keep count: forty-three, forty-four—
we are still at war.

After the cigarette burned out
The house burned down.
They say, "Child, take this to the grave."
If you made it out alive from the battle of Crete
Parents, I survived the friendly fire.
While you bombarded, I built the Roman Empire.

Beneath Orion's belt of stars,
The Sphinx's forepaws guard the Sphinx
And all its secrets.  Blood-red Mars,
Beneath Orion's belt of stars,
Planning the war to end all wars,
Observes the mummy's forty winks.
Beneath Orion's belt of stars,
The Sphinx's forepaws guard the Sphinx.

(A lone voice whispers)

If only they, today, embrace this whole poem

Just like the Seal once broken long ago in Golgotha

We all have a way home if we realize as a society

That old control is over, and we all have the chance to follow the old words

Once given to Noah

And from each human being, too, I will demand an accounting for the life of another human being.

Whoever sheds human blood,

    by humans shall their blood be shed;
for in the image of God
has God made mankind.

(C) Copyright John Duffy

I thought loving you would be like coming home....
or how it felt as a child to be carried into the house by your father when you were almost asleep in the car.
but I wasn't even close....
loving someone is like nothing else, I couldn't tell you anything in this world it is like.
but if I had to try to convey a fraction of what it feel's like, I'd say this.
Love is a war nobody will ever win, they will think they have but in the end nobody wins.
someone will always be burnt, fractured, bruised.
love always leaves scars.... on you or them or someone far in the back, someone who watched from the side lines wishing to be seen.
Love is a battlefield where nobody knows who's side their fighting for.
I used to think love was like coming home, but it's like going to war, blindfolded.

The gallop of horses against the ground,
The cries of men heard all around.
Their shields up and armor clashing,
Arrows and swords ready for lashing.

“Onward!” My king cried out,
Though our hearts were filled with doubt
Noticing fear and hesitation, my King turned and gently said,
“Friends, do not fret nor fear.”

“Dost thou think I am unafraid?
If so, my guise does betray.
My heart is filled with worry and despair,
Hidden by this armor I wear.”

“I am afraid of tomorrow
For what if that day only brings sorrow?
Yet, I am here, with all of thee;
By one voice, we all agree.”

“There is still good in this world–
The goodness of men still preserved.
Acts of kindness here and there,
And love spread everywhere.”


“For those with me, ride!
Raise your swords and put up your arms!
For though darkness shall rule this day,
We shall keep it at bay!”

As my King rode to battle, we were at His side.
From our mouths, proud voices we cried.
The sun’s rays shone through the gray;
My King was the one who led the way.

He proclaimed with a strong voice,
“Onward, men of bravery! Onward!
For on this day, we shall rejoice!
We shall not fear but fight forward!”

If the planet woke up,
And we had all disappeared,
Would it mourn our memory?

It depends on the way we go,
Somebody snapping their fingers, we fade away,
Or a blinding ball of light as nuclear weapons implode.

If God revoked our presence today,
What would happen with all the factories,
There's a chance they run until Earth runs out of fuel.

It seems that if that happened,
Then all these countries would sink into the sea,
With our glory and memory.