No More Wars

Sitting in a darkened room, respectful to be sure,

I watched a film in sullen gloom, recorded in the war.

The OHP would click and buzz, it's light beam chasing dust.

The can of film was old and brown with little spots of rust.

This film was shot in black and white, its angle often shook.

It's actors all were real enough, their ranks were in my book.

It showed me scenes from history, of times now long ago,

Which tore me up inside as I saw dead men in the snow.

At first it made me happy seeing men stand side by side,

But after all the gun smoke I could see where each one died.

The uniforms that they all wore, still crisp and neatly pressed,

A grim disguise for dirty work which stole our very best.

Until this point I didn't really have a view on war,

But now I feel it sickening to see men move no more.

I realised that these brave men were just as scared as I,

And none of them had signed up hoping this was where they'd die.

They all had families back home who loved them very much,

And prayed to god to grace them with a lover's tender touch.

To see their comrades blown apart as shells rained all around,

Was a horror that would haunt the few who returned safe and sound.

Yet there they were, all primed and fit, and fighting for our cause,

And so each year I'll honour them and pray for no more wars.