by Darren Swift
And the Afghan fields hold flowers
whilst the mountains hold men
who have fought the same war
for a thousand years
and yet we learn nothing
from those who went before.
And the broken earthed desert
of Iraq holds lusted oil
while soldiers sadly fail
to hold the hearts and minds
of a population who know nothing
but the pain and fear of betrayals.
And the cities of the west hold
vigil to industry's death while
homes become houses as the banks
remove families and as usual the
only ones winning are the builders
of weapons, warfare and tanks.
And the people of the world hold
their hands to their ears and bind
their eyes from the view.
Content in their own-ness they contract
their surroundings insisting there
is only "me", never "them" or "you".
And I hold my hands up in surrender;
give up the fight, accept defeat,
my meetings unmet, my banners unread
I bow low before the tide, no Canute,
just a sea-scrubbed pebble,just another
oil-wrecked seabird, waiting to be dead..
Posted on 08/17/2009
Copyright © 2022 Darren Swift
|Member Comments on this Poem|
|Posted by George Hoerner on 08/17/09 at 04:38 PM|
Great write Darren! A description of many historians may hold up showing that some did understand even in the 21 century. Of course that is, if there are people around in the future that might even be interested in our history.