An Acrostic to do With Minor Tactics
(and some advice)

Fighting needs a certain care,
Its conduct ruled by those in place - but
Righteous talk by those not there
Embroil our men who then lose face.

And we ask, should our young men
(Never sure of why they must.)
Defend themselves against the pen?

Make sure you task your fighting man
On those you really want to beat.
View your reasons twice and then
Ensure those reasons reach the street.
Mean what you say, do what you mean,
Enabling yours to win your war;
Never cease supporting him
Today, tomorrow, ever more.

I can't watch these young boys
Get drafted into war.
Bullet wounds and mental scars
Body blasted up to Mars.

I can't watch my best friends
Get shackled to a trench
Wrist bound, on the ground
Taken and sorely missed

Fighting for a cause
That they can't even name
Trump called up his war
And the press called up their names

Now they're stripped and stolen
No identity, no face
A rifle in their right hand
In the left a hand grenade

Left to suffocate in their thoughts
As player 2 takes aim
Finding stillness in the panic
Losing themselves in the game

And everyday they look back
And think of what their life could've been
Had the soulless imposter in office
Not taken life from them

it's all fun and games, but it's always the same
same bed and same room, same ceiling I'm staring at again.
till it's middle of the night
and the hole that's inside
growls hungrily through the quiet night.

and I'm trying to stop it, trying to fill it
buying cheap things that i see on the ads.
but somehow serotonin is there for a sec
so it disappears faster than i can feel it inside my head.

and oh, feeling lonely?
watch some lesbian movies
try not to think much and better stop as they kiss
cause it's always the same, the same look, and same ***
and then someone's dies and their love fades away.

makes you feel better, right? hits right in the spot!
didn't you want it? well, that's all we got.
take it or leave it, you have no choice
comprehend your existence, tomorrow might not come.

cause some men just decided we had enough peaceful time
nuclear war sounds great, bring your weapons to frontline.
sell your siblings, your father, they might not come back later
but you're serving for good, isn't that what they said?

**** more man, **** the kids. we will say you were drunk
but your future still bright, keep on with it's shine
obscure someone's whim behind its lights.
these days persons life doesn't cost that much.

write more stuff, create art, sell yourself, life's online
it's thriving, it's giving, saturated to tops
it seems overflowing, while you're doomscrolling
while you're bedrotting, unplugging your mind.

oh, i think of all of this
a million thoughts in my head
and i am still staring
at the ceiling while lying in bed.

A man remembered, Peter Bunn.
In those days vigorous, full of fun.
While we ‘The Company’ gain in skill
(Training hard we learn to ****)
Peter treats sore feet and sprains,
As we do, so does he - he trains.

As Infantry we must be fit,
No reason to be wealthy.
And Peter’s role, that’s his remit,
Was thus to keep us healthy.
A simple task would you agree,
Corporal Medic - Infantry?

Excepting, we were sent to war.
To fight of course, and what is more
All that blood and all that pain,
All that stress and all that strain,
Collectively on eighty men.
We needed Peter - now and then.

But all I see when looking back
Is Peter kneeling on a track
Before a man (It’s what I saw.)
Who lies there bleeding (**** this War.).
Who shivered, trembled, then who died.
And that’s the time when Peter cried.

does anyone feel the ticking of the clock -
a deadline, a rush, a finality
an end to our ways of living.
in the brink of another calamity
overwhelmed by the world
of devastation and cruelty.
striking down the minority,
aiming to breathe,
swimming up against the current,
the water invading our lungs -
we are drowning.

I looked and there before me
was a pale B-2 bomber
it’s rider was named Jesus
and Hell followed with Him
He who abandoned the cross
for the sword, whose morality
is corrupted by those He once
drove out of temples now
the kings of the United States
pledging allegiance to Holy War

glory, glory what a hell of a way
to commit genocide

there are no greetings,
no farewells,
they cross the line
and leave unnoticed.
a solemn choir of silenced voices
repeating an outdated prayer.
there is no god to hear them out,
their hope is but an empty promise.
they find their rest
in nameless graves
and die the way they lived,
unnoticed.

When missiles fly
The Mullahs lie
They bide their time
To turn the tide

Their constant bluster
Now short of luster
For why we ask
No God sent task

To build a bomb
With feigned aplomb
Their word to spread
Among the dead

They have their place
To find God's grace
Not trample lives
Like stinging hives

Fear and temerity
No road to prosperity
But that's what they seek
Control of the meek

A proud nation with tales of old
A proud people who once were bold
A history where feats abound
A long lost empire to astound

Time for Iranians to now earn
That for which they clearly yearn
Freedoms tenuous flickering light
Now in their grasp in line of sight