In honor of the poor duped men and women who were told that they were fighting for our country's freedom, when in reality they are used as pawns in a war that all comes down to money and power. In honor of the men and women who proudly march overseas into the sands of a desert rich with oil and zip their best friends into body bags, and sometimes are themselves zipped up and shipped home to their families who are so proud of the little soldier that obeyed every command and died for our "freedom"... they close their eyes and ears to the facts that are obvious, that their child, brother, mother, father, sister died so that the people in power could live a little more luxuriously and drive a larger SUV, and eat a few more piles of Caviar, and fly their newest private jet to whatever meeting they are going to attend under the pretense of protecting the American people. God bless you, young men and women in uniform who have been lied to and tricked into believing that what you are doing is honorable and for the sake of America. God bless you, young soldiers who will suffer for years in mental and emotional trauma, and never get the treatment you need from your government, because in the end - and you will see this - in the end, they don't give a damn about you or our country. In the end it all comes down to money and power. God bless America.
From Bitter to Sweet.
ReplyDeleteMilitia entrenched in the veins of war,
virus and toxins to even the score.
Denial and curses now blacken the air,
"Slaughter awaits you ‘merica, beware!"
Migraine starts with the throb of the bomb,
Smart seeks silently Saddam and Son.
Invasion revisits, drama unfolds,
stories of battle heroics soon told.
Water in waiting for cracked lips and souls;
freedom drips heavy ‘midst empty foxholes.
Food for the hungry, the battered, the lame,
supporting civilian, part of end game.
"My mother and father, brother and son,
Why has it happened, why not be undone?
We sat here talking; when down from above,
came spiralling downwards, freedom’s sweet glove."
Media digs deep in entrails of regime,
reporters like vultures litter the scene;
dead or the living, the faces tell tale,
how it was ended as in went the nail.
‘midst burning towns the retreat of disgrace,
desperation shaping fear in the face,
as steadily creeping, tank and the gun,
war fog descends on the land in the sun.
Pull on the neck of dictatorship grip,
polish with flag as it breaks at the hip,
The dream lies shattered with foot in the face,
of Saddam's own nightmare, nose out of place.
The end now signals a new beginning,
flowers at the feet of those now winning.
Watching and waving, people once oppressed,
beside them soldiers with bullet proof vests.
A heart bleeding inside: times soon to leave,
an imprint of sadness, torture, and grief.
Shackles of bondage lie broken by feet,
walking t’wards sunrise from bitter to sweet.
A twist of the knife, victor now victim;
terror, revenge intent on eviction.
Sure way to heaven reaps murderous hell,
on human life by Saddam’s splinter cell.
The cards of fate are now shuffled once more,
pack of lies sought by a knock on the door.
Bets that were made on the ace in his hand,
Lost with each capture from leadership band.
Seekers of poison now scour the land,
Threats of destruction look empty and bland,
Nations now foolish for hailing a war,
Now echo “Freedom and justice for all!”
Blows from the roadside on unity’s cheek,
faithful to cause are now loose on the streets.
‘though party bathes in the blood of the free,
Leader once ‘godly’ calls taxi to flee.
Shock and awe present, as dragged from a well,
Bedraggled unshaven, secrets to tell;
Front page news in festivity season,
Will he sing to the rhyme for a reason?
War is civil as it bathes in despair,
“God’s on our side!” the oath we swear,
Sacrifice of martyr in the market of arms,
Vengeful hatred now weaves it’s charms.
A sentence for guilty, the court hold’s it’s breath.
The hammer now falls to the judgment of “Death!”
Defiant man shouts “God is Great!”
Despite the murder of 148
Final stand with necklace of rope,
All that is left is afterlife hope.
Jeered to the drop as camera recalls,
Death sweeps his sickle as the body now falls.
The mate now stale as the struggle goes on,
To continue a purpose from victory once won,
The brave and courageous fight on in that land,
For freedom, for justice, for peace… on quick sand.
Hey, Paul - out of all of your poems that you've posted so far, this one is by far my favorite.
ReplyDelete