Don't Go

Men killing and being killed
far from home
far from their mothers' loving arms
to be buried in lonely stony graves
swept by harsh winds that bring from afar
the tears from a mother's eyes
the cries from a mother's heart
cast into the open skies
sharper than an enemy dart

killed for a king, for country, for a half-mad dream
of wealth, of fame, of glorious name
killed as so many boys are killed
far from the hopes with which they came
hopes and hearts forever stilled

what use is it to say Don't go
young men always think they know
more than a hundred generations teach
more than the blood of ages can reach
more than a million mothers' tears beseech
Don't go, Don't go, Don't go.

Grey

My days and nights are samely grey
no rising sun anoints me
no colours bless my dawn
no shining sun enlightens me
no stars observe my night
my days and nights are grey

I have nothing to worthwhile to say
no length of sleep refreshes me
no exercise enlivens me
no words of man excite me
no love of woman awakens me
I have nothing to say

I wish my empty days away
my grey unchanging days
I turn my unmarked diary's page
and so count out my lengthening age
I wish my empty days away
my grey unchanging days

The Coming and Passing of Wars

The Coming and Passing of Wars - May 1945

Like the turning of seasons
when in winter we cannot imagine being warm,
a distant memory, like childhood and innocence
the days that seemed impossible to see again
have returned

The guns and the killing and the madness have stopped
it's no longer normal to take aim and shoot at a stranger
misery is not celebrated, torture not excused, pity not mocked
and dazed, we think of peacetime problems again
and the time of blood and winter snows
seems like a long dark dream that never really was

except for the dead, the wounded, the killers, and the widows

And we ask ourselves
as our children will surely wondringly ask us
what was it all for?
was there not another way?
will the winter snows come again?