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The Futility Of War

Death, The Dealer,
The final deck of life.
No hidden agendas,
Just a cold slate to wipe.
With hand and sword,
With rock and stone.
With shaft sailing, deadly,
Through grey skies, alone.
The smarter the weapon,
The reaper delights.
A fulsome harvest,
Of terror and cries.
Split the atom,
And split the odds.
Split the proceeds,
But not the cost.
And thus to tally,
The tariff of all,
The carnage of the brave,
Young men, watch them fall.
The dealer doesn't care,
Be they friend or foe.
To fall is to die,
To die cold and slow.
The spear of destiny,
Fate beckons us all.
Watch as they flock,
Like lambs to the call.
The colours fly high,
On the wind, watch them dance.
Few will go home,
Save the cruel whim of chance.
The heartbroken mothers,
Bereft, hear them cry.
And beseach with empty eyes,
They can't understand, why?
No love can protect them,
No arms keep them warm.
No power over the tyrants,
Who promise them harm.
Like the pull of the tide,
O'er seas vast and wide.
There's nowhere to run,
Theres nowhere to hide.
The cards are now dealt,
In futile designs.
And only deaths dealer,
Can decipher the signs.
May 2013




Kenneth Eaton-Dykes

Fri 1st Nov 2013 15:28

Nice work


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