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Bless Us As We Kill
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A Yellow Sunshine Night
There are no flags to wave
in the middle of the war.
No important words to proclaim
to inspire victory and glory.
Just death.
Mutated shapes of body parts
that have fulfilled
the honour of being buried
in closed caskets.
Send the pieces home.
Give a flag to their wives.
There are no messages in a bottle.
No secret codes that will
define the evil we allow.
No meaning to the carnage we
watch with little interest
on our nightly news programs.
Change the channel.
Switch off the mind.
Seek one of those reality shows
which allows us to participate
by not being present
for the events.
Pass the potatoe chips.
Open the beer.
There are no medals worth having
which make the killing
seem to be of
Divine will.
No waving hands of untold delight
hoping to infiltrate the
mindless drone of battle.
Just silence.
Quiet soldiers in the midst of
the battleground.
Dying.
God bless our side.
