The futility of War ( from a survivor) Inspired by an article in Counter Currents this evening

Rare cancers
are not rare in
dear old Iraq
it appears
the horrid war it
came and went
and left us years
of tears.

uranium has a half life
in billions
therefore, we
may not be able
to appreciate that its
only some 20 years
since it all kicked off
and we,
never shall be free
its a minutiae
when we begin to
see
what people do to others
they play out that
tragedy

the stench of war
is prevalent
the world is forced
to smell
the blood and guts
of many friends
transported off
to Hell

bodies ravaged
torn apart
by hellish weapondy
innocent bystanders
looked so dejected
playing our sad part
in History

looking into children’s
faces
riddled with strange staring
eyes
staring in and out of you
hoping to realise

bandages soaked
in their blood
are wrapped around their
souls
deep cuts a tearful
countenance
a testament consoles

none of them
there’s no body
who dares to have
a thought
as to why we act in such a way
why, this action
was sought

madness on a scale
involving infants
who take the vile
contraptions that we fire
in anger at each other
as our bloody tanks
do rumble
through the streets
where such wrath, is dire

so many were a tangled
mass of limb and bone
crushed or smashed
like toys of PVC
tiny little “Barbie” dolls
twisted
had they resisted
no they were simply
gazing thoughtfully

lying fast asleep
blood flowed like
rivers
the evils desperate men
are prepared to use
against the unseen souls
who lie peacefully in their cots
whose gentle lives they so violently
abuse

power what is the vilest of confusion
a classic case of
suddenly being, where
it would have been
much better to have
just been somewhere else
to have escaped this
shock,and dire despair

but we alas were
those actors
in that scene
and still today
some of us
the survivors
in a land that
was forced to pay
a land whose History does go
back an epoch
why and how and who
a mystery
everywhere is memory of
good times
and everywhere is sheer
futility.

war for sure
is measured in the death
of honest people
people who became
just blood and gore
now I look across
the streets of courage
where men fell in their hundreds
they were dads and brothers
yes, before

and I know
the cancer that is now inside
of me
everyday, it
continues, to grow
reminding me
of what in fact had
happened
and that any thought of
recovery was now low

I bleed inside
for all the souls
now lying in the sand
who didn’t make it safely
through the war
I understand
my mother is a beautiful
individual
she looks into my eyes
and I adore

for I can see
an angel,she’s an angel
she’s my, angel
she looks with deep set eyes
so painfully

all knowing, she’s all seeing
she’s all thinking
she knows that her
dear child is going to die
I know of course
I feel, of course
the sheer inevitability
but cannot bring myself
to now ask why?

how one day soon my eyes
will be unable
to see my mother
they will be, alas
wide open, but unconnected to
the life force
my soul detached
and away in death’s morass