The Soldiers Question

Littering the ground
the bodies of the fallen
soldiers, civilians
lay, as if waiting
for a morning that will never come
for them, there is no more

While millions avert their eyes
thousands of others die
their blood spilt
unceremoniously
onto an undeserving gound
to fee the dying plants

When the sun rises on the battlefield
there will be no victories, no gain
there will only be piercing death
and the sounds of grieving mothers
now tell me again,
that I should be proud to decorate

some foreign countryside.