The ache of Nations

By Rogue

Sweet symphonies play,
While the world is destroyed in a day.
Soldiers sweep the fields,
but the orchestra never yields.

Boys and men are blown to sand,
While the Maestro just waves a hand.
Women cry upon blood soaked shores,
as tears are shed for mediocre scores.

We are puppets on a string,
Waging wars we didn't bring.
Keeping power upon a shelf,
That each man thinks is for himself.

Millions have fought and died,
But still we aren't satisfied.
How many bodies must we break
before we realize what's at stake?

Unauthorized Copying Is Prohibited. Ask the author first.
Copyright 2018 Rogue
Published on Saturday, October 6, 2018.     Filed under: "Philosophical" and "Poetry"
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Comments on "The ache of Nations"

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  • Commander_Cadaver On Saturday, October 6, 2018, Commander_Cadaver (267)By person wrote:

    War...war never ends. Nice write and welcome to DP.

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