BEWILDERD

An old man sits down in his house.

He turns on the T.V then picks up his mouse.

He looks at the screen where the violence still plays.

It takes him back to the so called good old days.

His palls by his side before the dead mans, line all are waiting for the order to come on through.

Why?  He couldn't say, nobody there even knew.

 

They could not shoot they had no choice

Then in the distance they heard a voice

"Come on boys you know what to do"

Up they stood and charged on through.

Quarter of the way many had already died.

Many others hurt, bleeding and forced to hide.

 

He ran with the boys as they ran up field.

Knowing in his heart nether side could yield. 

The folks back home were hidden from what he saw.

The orders told him to kill some more.

Now years later as he watches the screen

he see's that violence still runs supreme.

 

When he returned he was treated like a hero yet inside he felt a coward.

The fourteen, fifteen year olds he was told to shoot.

He went up to get showered.

Whilst in the shower he felt the rain.

The rain that stank them corpses up again.

He spoke to his boys who were no six foot under.

Remembering their voices within the midnight thunder.

 

We fought for their freedom but look at today.

They may as well just press the button, cancel the delay.

Even now they design more weapons to sell to one another .

They never stop to think that's somebodys sister or kid brother.


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