The brave boys and quarrelsome men promised victory in the end. There would be great peace, and rows and rows of men, marching home again. But what I see are rows and rows of graves, mouldering in the rain. Victory or defeat, means tragedy, for their children and their moms. It all sounds so pretty, the language so romantic. When the leaders get on the Screen. But when the children die and the war-profiteers lie, the warmongers send their children to school in Switzerland.
Thoughts on politics, economics, life and creative works from the author including poetry
Saturday, May 25, 2013
Victory
Labels:
Poetry
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment