By Bill Willson
I stand before the cold stone wall
My eyes fill with tears, heart so heavy,
The writing‘s so small, and the wall so massive.
I press my hands and face against cold blackness
How many gallant lives does it take,
To convince humanity, war has no victors?
The clouds darken and the cold rain comes down;
No matter, my heart is already chilled,
It‘s as cold as black granite in winter.
I walk slowly in the rain to the end of the wall.
So many names of soldiers long dead,
Their young lives lost,
With little to show
Only their names on this monument.
Sixty thousand souls lost, not counting the missing,
Yet if truth were known all are missing
From wives, husbands, children, mothers,
Fathers, friends, and our nation.
Incalculable in terms of human progress,
If they had but lived to fulfill their full measure.
And what of the material loss
To carry them into battle?
Civilization‘s wealth spent on destruction and death
Breeding hatred and revenge in the hearts of children.
Wealth which could better be spent on education.
Education to teach war‘s horror, and death=s finality.
The challenge to search for an alternative,
Or to discover the horror of the
Blood soaked battlefields.
This was but one small war
Since the beginning of time,
How many more, until we learn the lesson?
Blood lust is fanned by hatred and greed.
The real losers in war now bury the vanquished.
If they fought with courage to protect their homes,
Both winners and losers, ascend with the just to their home on high
Let all mankind say in their hearts, I will fight no more,
And let peace reign over the earth