War develops
Like a toothache,
The caries slowly and inexorably
Gaining ground,
Until the cavity
Dominates the tooth,
Until war itself
Becomes more important
Than the reasons
For which the war is fought.
The power of the people
Is hidden in the masses
Until every poor boy
Becomes a warrior
Under an iron man
With iron fists at the top.
When the war ends
There is no victory.
The win goes to those
Who lost least
And every shucked poor boy
Goes home to his plow or factory.
The king bestows medals and ribbons
On the officers
And divides the swag
Among those who need it the least,
Want it the most,
And stop at nothing
To replenish the coffers
With the spoils of victory.
---o0o---
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