I envision old men
In those funny brown hats.
And little red flowers.
On Veteran's Day.
But it's not old men that fight wars
It's young men that become old men
Or die.
So what becomes of the dead?
What becomes of the living?
Are they living, or just alive?
The young men and women are fighting.
I wonder when there will be old women who fought.
That generation hasn't matured yet.
How many of them
Have spilt blood on the ground
Theirs, or the enemy's?
What's the difference,
It's human life.
It's life, a soul
Broken shattered gone.
Where have all the flowers gone?
Will we be the lost generation,
Lost to a war we won't win
And didn't want to fight?
What exactly are we supposed to be supporting,
All I hear is death.
Losing blood that's for a purpose.
It's for living
Connecting
Sharing
Surviving.
War is the antithesis of survival
For us at this juncture.
Here we either die or fight to exist malfunctioning.
But I'm not gonna die
And I'm not gonna fight.
Can I be a patriot, alive and well?
Socialist president and all.
--11.16.08
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