War Torn

There’s a sprawling field rife with crosses
Peppered black with fading names
In memory of those who paid the price
Of war's barbaric games

In an overrun creek desolate and dry
Neath a sea of blood-red sheen
Is an outskirt of a wind-blown necropolis
Overrun with moss-ridden green

There’s an elegy written of sacred ground
Where a headstone shadows a bog
Of a lad who fell dead to gun-toting men
Where he died confiding his dog

There’s a church and belfry near an old dirt road
Where the kin folk had come to pray
There’s a town half burned full of napalm dust
Of bones weathered and blown away

Doors swing wide then close hard with a shrill
Like screams that haunt every breeze
Where souls once wandered its desolate streets
And wind still serenades trees

How much life has been lost to indignity
How many have passed before their time
To be praised as heroes by purveyors of war
Who shall never be charged with its crime

So we carry on in our hearts with the knowledge,
That all men are indeed inequal
And that the blood they’ve bathed in for justice
Shall be spilled out in every sequel