Colourblind
The sound of blades and guns and bombs
Leak from the battlefield
Like blood from the eyes of soldiers.
Blood that stains hands of leaders
Who lock their hearts in little black boxes
And fly them off to the south-
While men fight through the winter
Guided gently by the warmth,
Of death's footprints burned in snow.
It stains the faces of our children,
Who see the world through black and white pictures
And cannot understand the rage-
That creases up the adults faces,
Tilled into the soil and dirt,
Crawling like thorns across their cribs.
It leaks into the ageless cemetery
Where waves stand as graves
For those who died on foreign land.
Still, the sounds of the world move on.
Careless voices break the promised silence,
Slowly composing our death song.
And defending us; a blind ex-soldier,
Muttering words of untamed wisdom
To a generation lost in fear.
"Lest we forget, my sons," he says,
With red and tearless eyes.
"Lest we forget."
