Another Man’s War by Faymarie Morris


ANOTHER MAN’S WAR
Through reddened, rheumy eyes the old man gazed
At a hostile face he didn’t know.
Why should he feel as defeated as this
When he overcame much worse, years ago.
He never sought thanks or glory, or praise
And he didn’t crave medals to prove it,
But a little respect might help heal the wounds
Or at least go a long way towards it.
But what did he get instead for his loss,
All those arduous years of devotion?
A pittance to last the rest of his days
In a world without warmth or emotion.
Oh how he longed for his life on the land.
All the heartbreak. The pleasure.The sorrow.
He would happily trade all his todays
Without even a thought of tomorrow,
For that sweet smelling soil, after the rain.
For those sunsets of red, gold and yellow.
For his mother’s laughter, even her tears,
And the way that his father would bellow.
But these were such long distant memories
Of some far away, more innocent time.
Before he decided to give his all
To another man’s war, in another clime.
He had fought for a world fit to live in
And despaired at the misery around,
As those other brave souls fell before him
And their crimson blood sank into the ground.
They were told that the world would be freer.
That their sacrifice would not be unsung.
That repression and terror were ended,
That the bells of peace would always be rung.
But the fact was, that angry young stranger,
Who had beaten his old face black and blue,
Lived alone in his own private war zone,
[And all he’d got was a dollar or two.]
Hadn’t cared who had fought for his freedom
Or the sacrifices that had been made.
And what was the point of remembrance,
When remembering only brings pain?

Faymarie Morris

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3 thoughts on “Another Man’s War by Faymarie Morris

  1. I enjoyed the feeling conveyed in your words Faymarie the world today would bring tears to most veterans eyes. A good poem

  2. Hi Faymarie

    I really like this and am saddened that my generation and the next appear to have forgotten the debt of gratitude owed and sacrifices made for their freedom and so called ‘entitlements’.

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