The Moth and the Candle

In blood and death they came
And for blood and death they stayed
Dead eyes, fierce faces full of hunger
Troop past without seeing our lives
One side or the other, they don’t care which is ours

From the sky, through the trees, this hail came
It rained down without cease.
Violent noises, intermittent, speak of war
Clouds of smoke rise and pay homage

The homes were shattered by barrages
Of high explosives. Friends and family lie
Side by side, their blood running together
Mingling in rivulets, flowing in unison, in tribute

The cries of the dying and the screams of those less lucky
Ring through the grey air. Piteous wails from children
Who are now orphans, soon to be corpses
The laughter, sniggering, high and low giggles
Of those who control our fate. Why us?

Why anyone? But they are here now
And no pleading, no begging, no sobs of terror
Will make them go away. In fact it infuriates them
The whining of a people too scared to do anything
Except whine.

Green berets, Red berets, Tricolores or shoulder flashes
What do we care of the niceties of symbol or uniform?
We are the dying and the dead who are never left alone
Who can scream and beg and plead but it does no good

Kneeling in filth and mud, head bowed, spirit spent
Harsh questions screamed in languages I don’t understand
A gun jammed to my temple by a man
With a hatred of me in his eyes so clear, so true

Whose side am I on? Yours. Hers. His. Theirs.
Anyone’s. Very definitely not my own
But then who is? Not you. So kill me stranger
Shoot me in the head and move on.

A village left behind. Burned houses, slaughtered animals
Crops razed, villagers who tried to run scattered on the road
No one escaped, most did not even try
They are all gone but still here.