Dulce et Decorum

We give soldiers guns and tell them to shoot on sight
Because in war you can make those assumptions
Assume that some of our brothers are so far below humanity
That they are weapons that shoot and should be shot on sight
Weapons that are trigger happy and trigger drunk
Whose triggers are pulled by men who will never have to hold a gun
In hands that are still stained by blood
Hands that send out nonchalant condolences to the families of soldier
He was such a noble man they said
We’ll make sure there’s a footnote of him in the history books they said
But they pretend not to see that veterans who come back
Never come back totally complete
And I don’t mean like an amputee
But more like the wind that wails at the sound of thunder
Or the tree that breaks at the sight of lightning
Like a toothpick whittled down by the unflinching razor’s edge
Of blind patriotism
Every sunrise is a mushroom cloud
Our heroes come back shattered
We hold them close as long as they stay on the news
Bring back our troops we scream at t.v. screens
But walk away disgusted when we see
Our veterans begging on the corners of streets
Virtue doesn’t create heroes; necessity does
And necessity can break you
It will drag you
Sometimes people believe in you so they can
Unburden themselves
Never asking if you wanted their beliefs to begin with
Unwanted beliefs easily become doubts
Enemies easily become ourselves
And every life we take is a piece of our own soul being blasted away
So why do we ask that of our soldiers.
Why do we let them smolder in the fires of war
Then act surprised when they are too hot to touch
Too sensitive to feel
Tripping over the normalcy of civilian life
Like a landmine is waiting to land on their heels
We never allowed them to show weakness because we convinced them
That their hearts were Achilles’ heels.
And back at home we march on heels
Stomping on a future that was just beginning to heal.
The American Dream is holding us hostage in a screenplay
A cinematic illustration of machine gun soundtracks
And dialogue that pleads for life
When life is the intermittent periods of silence
Between gunshot bursts
Sweet and proper it is to die for one’s country indeed
But sometimes knowing death and being dead
Are not the same rhyme scheme
What is happening?
And why is why always the hardest question to answer?