There is no glory in shatter'd bodies
shatter'd minds...
limbs stack'd:
legs in one pile, arms in another
hands & feet each in their own
pile of decay:
lifeless, bloodless & useless
lacking all means of contact.
Head traumas: reality changing
personality altering, no hope of recovery
wounds.
Where is mercy when shrapnel rains death & worse?
Where is glory in dried pools of young men's blood?
Chronic victims do not just die, but live:
maimed, halt, deaf & blind...
always the young;
always the handsome boys
with gleaming cheeks
& bright summer smiles:
the kid who delivered the morning news,
bagged groceries or hung out at the garage.
A desire to serve dei & patria
placed them in the blast
of IED's, car bombs or in crosshairs
of sniper's sights.
Those not in flag-draped metal skins
welcomed home to indeterminate futures
& a government's ingratitude:
whose sacrifices are taken for granted
by old men who never took fire;
old men who never even played paint-ball;
old men who trumpet slogans
while sending tender spirits
to be tempered by rounds
from AK 47's and RPG's;
old men who sit behind mahogany desks
spinning webs of misinformation
to cover their own dishonor:
staining honor by falsely wearing its mask.
Those old men can never truly know
the costs of decisions made by ego & greed,
& are, in spirit, more maimed than
any of their young victims,
& who, when they are dead & gone,
joining those on the other side,
will face an army of their casualties:
spirits who will slowly raise their missing limbs
to point in eternal & silent accusation.
(Copyright 2/10/2006)
Hugh Cobb
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/there-is-no-glory/
