"Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it." (george santayana)
The Greater War
We are the generation
of a hundred years removed.
Removed from
the
parades,
the
farewell handkerchiefs waving
for
a dapper man in uniform, smiling,
not
knowing
that his grinning
face would be blown off.
Removed from
the
quiet town in the valley,
serene until
serene until
it
burns black
and
charred and broken
by
men who were only following orders.
Removed from
the
trenches,
winding
miles of graves
filled
with men who were already dead, they just didn’t know it.
Removed from
the
gas,
men
choking on the poison they created:
what
an honorable way to die.
Removed from
the
children
who
grew up with daddies off to war
and
pennies jingling in their pockets
and
vegetables growing in their victory gardens
and
the big, bad Huns being squashed by Uncle Sam
and
their brains slowly turning to mush
so
they must take their medicine,
big
heaping spoonfuls of bitter war.
We are a generation
of a hundred years removed, but
this was not our war.
Our war, our greater war, is with time.
We cannot forget.
We will not forget.