Poem: War itself

1
War itself often
Becomes more important

Than the reasons
For which the war is fought.

Every poor boy
Trundles off in starched fatigues,

And at war’s end,
The win goes to those who lost least.

2
Men of war
Weep and lament

Or laugh at the perished
And the blood they shed.

The dead come back
To haunt them.

Spooks attach themselves
To the victors like a conjoined twin.

3
I wonder what happened
To the Armies Of The Night

Tilting against The Power
And maybe ending a war?

How hard can it be
To do it again

Just this one time,
As Tessio said,

Letting ourselves off the hook
For old times' sake?
---o0o---