(Brock Rowntree)



Ebbing eyesight in chlorine clouds

stealing away barbed wire shrouds

mowed down in mud by machine gun fire

trapped and strangled in barbed wire

silent nights smashed as big guns fill bodies full of shrapnel

in their crusade to kill

Far away, politicians, glasses of port

meet in a toast to a war they've not fought

Holy fire directed and idly discussed

manufacturing hatred, engineering distrust

trading clarity for confusion,

the ruthless powerlust.

Only one thing in common do leaders share

with those on the battlefield fallen down everywhere

and that is their wine, has good body and it is red

draining away forever like the blood of those dead.