War does not discriminate
against the colour of face or hair,
or the shade of fear in young men’s eyes 
—young men of all ages,
some mere boys —
it’s only the colour of their clothes
and the flag they pledge allegiance to
that brands them. 

Faces blazed in memories
never die.
Husbands, fathers, 
brothers, sons;
soldiers watching soldiers die
never forget the terror reflected
in the other man's eyes,
—for it’s their own. 

And whoever said 
that grown men don’t cry
never felt the tears squeezed 
from the depths of a soul too young
to be made so old
by the clenching fist of death
witnessed on the edge of a pendulum 
that rides a tidal wave of fate
to decide who dies —
and who lives to die a millions deaths
in fitful sleepless nights
long after laying weapons down. 



october 2005
©Janet Reid