Saturday, 19 December 2015



Two friends upon a battlefield
one left on the ground as he dies
In a foxhole, the other sits
listening to his mate's poor, cries

The first man wanted to save his mate
but the Sergeant said, not to go
"You'll only kill yourself instead"
"I can't leave him that's all I know"

The Sergeant went to turn away
as the first man dove from the hole
"I have to save my friend," he said
"if it costs my immortal, soul"

Minutes later he slid back in
clutching his dead friend, in his arms
Mortally wounded, he was now
blood was pouring, from both forearms

Laid to rest within his friends arms
"a waste" said the Sergeant, to some
"When I found him, he was alive
his last breath said" "I knew you'd come"

Those who live forever bonded
round a fire and hearth, tell the tales
Are stories told, worth the cost
of a poor mother's, cries and wails

Ask a man to die for country
he will die for his friend instead
But no matter why it happens
the poor man is still surely dead

Could we strive to be something more
than a tombstone, upon the ground
Is death the true test of friendship
when Taps plays, the ultimate sound

If we don't learn to love, brothers
extinction will be how Man ends
It's hard to live a life of pride
at the cost of so many friends


Many men awed by another
have then sought out their fellows land
Man shall turn brother on brother
to steal of him his woman's hand

How do we claim the virtue love
yet pray to our war in the same
We speak of peace from up above
then kill each other in his name

By taking life what do we gain
rendering all someone may own
Do we inherit sorrowed pain
for our own failure to have grown

I see good men, both meek and mild
but those who kill so needlessly
Take life of someone’s loving child
depleting all humanity

What will they say when we're no more
beware those who kill their own kind
We will become what all deplore
until only the wind you'll find

Tate Morgan

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