Was this the war of faith, the infidel with his white face?
for zealot's on the back of trucks,
our courtship's cost,
for all the might, and frenzied pluck.
The drones without a conscience struck,
the warlords, did not care a fuck.
Each, stood as adversaries, chess pieces played,
the populous were killed and slayed.
But as Covid played its hand.
Trump declared "the loss to great and its demand"
Sound the bugle's clarion retreat,
to pack our bags, exit and leave.
Return, the middle age of cruelty
oppression, to target innocence, the man upon the street.
All those that sought a better life,
the dream that died, left incomplete
Just the wreckage, war winds blow,
the refugee's, desolation standing in a row.
For we just washed our hands
and left without a bow.
Shame carved, on each white headstone
memorials for the young and brave.
For prayers and tears, the gaping holes.
Those loved, and never coming home
With ideologies at odds, to depart with injured pride
Futility, counted as the final cost.
The coin of freedoms pocket robbed
vultures picked, all that remained alive
Written by slipalong
Go To Page