1879
Unlaagered, spread-out, blind and hot,
In good spirits though, until slowly,
Realisation dawned that the black line,
Of assegai's lining the hills,
Would spell the end for those in red,
Who then, disembowelled through respect,
Would rest forever under white stones.
1914
A hole in the ground, filled with men,
Going nowhere, but lobbing shells,
And bullets and gas toward their foe,
Because nobody knew how,
To advance against machine guns.
So out of ideas, the orders came,
To march, slowly, ignoring things,
Like barbed wire or death,
Or that trenches don't move.
1939
Planes wheeled thought the air, ships sunk,
Trains exploded, tanks brewed up,
And men fought over the world.
But children starved, mothers cruelly stripped,
Of families; a teenage girl executed.
Because someone had an idea,
And convinced others, that atrocity,
Led towards something great,
As long as your eyes looked away.
1955
Twenty years of proxy war,
Preventing the spread of equality,
Where some are more equal than others,
In a jungle racked with fire,
A strategy of attrition was sold,
But without trenches this time,
Only to be shown as a fallacy,
Grasped at by those in command,
And exploded as a myth,
By an offensive called Tet,
Where more died in order that,
Nothing would change.
2003
Weapons of Mass Destruction,
They must be around here somewhere,
But never mind, we can say,
What people know; that Saddam is a Bad Man,
So we will treat him as he would treat others,
And yip with sensationalist delight,
When we finally find and hang him.
No worries for the long term stability,
Of this place or its people,
Or of the death and anguish caused,
On both sides, because now things are better,
If you like destruction and marketplaces,
That hide bombs and insurgency.
