Why War?

by A.B.

The marching feet are busy raising dust.
The barbed wire brains are tangled up in knots.
Why do they go to war? Because they must?
Why should they live amongst the shocks and shots
that echo through the watery graves that
they call trenches? Why should they die so soon,
spread over fields, five foot five fallen flat?
Why should their uniforms be stained maroon,
their blue eyes glassed over and unseeing?
Is it their fault that they must go to war,
and see things that scar their very being?
Was it a vital burden that they bore?
It’s a thing that no one can glorify –
Why war? Run fast, kill quick, shout loud, then die.