War was simply a childhood game.
Sticks and stones, our bones were safe.
Unbeknownst to what was happening outside,
We, as children, went on with our lives.
But as we grew older, we began to see,
That war was a different animal, entirely.
Guns and bullets, that would penetrate men.
Never again woken by the cry of a hen.
Blood running down a hill made bare.
Seemingly as if no one was ever even there.
Now men are all dead and the children now ask,
"What really happened to my Mum and Dad?"
"Did they die fighting, or was it just all a lie?
Why are they not here to tuck me into bed tonight?"
I have no answer, but I understand the toll:
the pain that is placed upon the body, the mind, and the soul.
For the ones still at home, it is not much better.
Endlessly picturing loved ones in stuck in stormy weather.
You said you wouldn't cry, you promised not to cuss.
You even promised to let him leave without any sort of fuss.
But then the letter did arrive, signed in military head,
The letter contained five simple words, "Your husband now is dead".
Then came the tears, flowing out like rain.
Out with them came the feelings: passion, sorrow, pain.
You cried for seemingly hours, the room began to flood.
You thought that because of you, your hands held his blood.
When he signed that long paper, he knew what it took.
He died fighting for freedom, his name in our books.
This noble man died fighting, he knew of the risks.
The last thing on his mind was your sweet final kiss.