Pride, Pain and War

PRIDE, PAIN AND WAR – a poem by Spike the Poet


Spike is a former soldier, now a poet and peace activist. Once his experiences drove him on a path to self destruction. But through poetry, he has found an outlet. He is now a performance poet and speaker where he attacks the establishment that thrives on war. He is polemic and unswerving in his damning condemnation of the war machine.

So  we are told . . .
Be proud of the rock 
where we cried
our first tears.
Be proud of the flag
that flutters above
our hopes and fears.
Be proud of the song
we sing together
Fearing the same,
man made god.
Then we are told . . .
Be proud to fight those,
that cried their first tears,
on a different rock,
under a different flag,
singing a different song,
fearing a different,
man made god.
Yes! They are proud,
        but our pride
        is stronger.
Yes! They fight with their god,
        but our god,
        is greater.
Yes! They feel pain,
        but our pain,
        is deeper.
So I say,
Pain for all those
affected, is the same.
For it has no flag,
no anthem.
It knows not race,
nor skin.
There is no heart to strong,
can stop it getting in.
It gives no introduction,
nor will reveal its face.
Like a dagger twisting
in your gut,
no why,
no thought,
no grace.
It engulfs your
very being.
It is your darkest dream.
It’ll cut you wide,
to release inside,
a guttural,
primal scream.
So I say to those,
that feast upon our
hollow pride.
I have seen the skull,
behind that crooked smile.
As you ride that
lead lined carriage,
along that golden mile.
You posses those lands
and titles, of which
you have no right,
paid for, by the blood
of those,
those you sent to fight.
So I say to you,
Profiteers of war.
No more . . .
Knee deep in
mud and blood,
will we clear
those crow pecked
bodies, from every
field and shore.
We will tell you
Greedy bastards,
we fight for you,
no more.
We will turn our backs
on dignitaries
and monarchs
laying wreaths.
We will tell you
Greedy bastards,
the slaughter
has to cease.
We’ll not clear
those crow pecked
bodies, from every
blood soaked,
field and shore.
We will tell you
Greedy bastards,
we die for you . . .
Spike 2017 ©

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