War is a hellish thing,
an inconsequential pissing contest
between desk-set sacks of meat.
A palm and a pen and opinion
send cannon fodder afar
to an early grave of forgotten dirt.
It’s a tale as old as us, a tale
preceded and proceeded by ego
with minimal thought to real consequence.
The sign of a name that will be forgotten
in centuries – nay, years demands those
who we struggle to remember
leave behind a family who will be
impacted for generations.
War is a hellish thing.

But those who leave for what they believe
to be our sake do not question
political demand. They do not question
questionable decisions that will surely
haunt the dreams of any who are lucky
(or unlucky) enough to survive.
They fight and kill and die
because they believe that they do
what must be done to protect
the life they have learnt to love
and the lives they have learnt to love.
They are the accused and are persecuted
for crimes that need an answer,
an answer that does not belong to the servant.
War is a hellish thing.

© Blake Leitch August 7, 2014