If the question of whether to go to war or not is never asked, then war will never be the answer.

 

He held on to his flag

bone tired, more dead than alive.

He could not sleep, nor could he eat,

even breathing, was a feat.

 

When he joined the forces, so filled with pride;

a righteous fight for all men's rights;

now long forgotten in a war worn mind

a broken body, mates left behind.

 

Still a young man according to age

but his soul .... fragmented, filled with rage.

The things he had seen, the places he'd been,

indelible nightmares, filled with screams.

 

The thought of going home, (oh, comforting thought),

steadied his nerves, made him feel strong.

Sunny blue skies, fields dressed for summer,

lightened his mood, when feeling too sombre.

 

Finally, it was confirmed,

the war was over, t'was time to return.

 

Standing at the station, waiting for their son,

a mother and a father, hand in hand.

Time moves very slowly for hearts filled with fear

but now he's coming home, soon he'll be here.

 

No words are spoken as they embrace their son,

so gaunt and solemn, he has become.

He left, the larrikin, so full of life,

returned instead, man merely alive.

 

In war, whether defeated or victorious,

the cost to human lives, copious.

All of us, someone's mother, someone's father,

someone's sister, someone's brother,

someone's  friend, someone's lover,

someone's relative, someone's partner,

someone's son, someone's daughter.

 

If the question of whether to go to war or not is never asked, then war will never be the answer.

(Citizen X)