The War With No Name

I died in a war with no name, in a place no one knew what to call it, because it had been bombed a lot and the last thing I thought is that the scream of the shell was running away from me.

My country had no name, because I had no country, not anymore, and that was what the war was about.

I was placed in a common grave, because so many had died there was no place to put them.

I believed in our cause and the reasons given, but the reasons given weren’t the real reasons, we knew this, we knew there had to be reasons.

If there ever were a memorial, that would be good, and they could put it here where I died, in a place with no name, because they would have a name for it now, and the war in which I died, and there would be more reasons because peace grows reasons from acts seeded in war.

If there ever were a memorial, that would be good, because then war would be over and people could go to the memorial, for whatever reasons they had, perhaps just on their break for lunch, and sit in the shade and read what it says.


And what the memorial should say is: Life is sweet.




TURN #73: WEEK 59; WORDS: 64,174
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