Fields of War

The fields of war are watered by the blood of the poor
And kept alive by dreams destroyed and dreams that evaporate like vapours in the sun.
Victims of Keres laughter, victims of Asmodeus touch
Victims of an endless war, the wars of terminal generals
And dead-ridden politicians who loiter the halls of power
Like cancerous ghosts destroying all whom they touch.

Oh you young soldier, dead before you live
Dying on the battlefield in a war you do not understand
Who sold you this lie
That took your life

Die, the Sage said
Foolish Young. Foolish Poor
Lying on the fields from Sokoto to Owerri
Dying too soon, and too late to realize that the war was never meant to be won.

When you pursued chickens and climbed trees
When you had your first kiss and fell in love
When your mother pulled your ears and jumped with joy
And your father smiled with pride as you strutted in your wreath
Did you know you were to be sacrificed for Keres and Asmodeus's  delight?

Oh young soul, little vapour
Dissipating in the killing fields
Dying for the crooked rich
seeking clarity with your gurgled breath as Thanatos and Hypnos
Lull you to sleep