Addicted To Disaster

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Romance  |  House: Philosophistication Poetry

Military deception or military conception



Honour has been sold

to the young and the old,

the beautiful and the bold,

the hairy and the bald.

It has been colored with crayons

on posters, propaganda and pamphlets

distributed as if they have blueprints

of the truth written on them,

the young fall and so do the old

with no purpose,

manly fathers pat sons on their backs,

and mothers weep tears that are

bloody and accompanied by curses

to the husband,

the son has been sold to the

battalion for a concept called honor,

honour, what is honour, isn't that

a thing that a Poet will

claim to have just to hide his pride,

what is honour, will it make you more human,

more successful, more different... No

sons and daughters,

guns and roses,

empty rooms and graves

filled with bones of recruits,

who really agrees and shakes the palms

of these armed forces,

who allows these alms to exist,

PTSD, trauma hath no fury like

a fallen soldier...

After limbs of friends have been blown off, 

after eyes have seen threads

of muscles tearing like elastic bands,

after knee caps have been used as bowls

to eat our sanity from,

what do you do,

who do you run to,

when ques are filled with men

and women in camouflage uniforms,

and yet the pride is no longer there,

it's non-existent like unicorns.


So you peruse through the

grains of sand, and ask yourself

if the earth will inhabit your

trembling flesh,

you're scared to death,

well, at least you're craving for it,

but you have two daughters and a son

who really aren't prepared to be statistics

of being fatherless children,

so what has the military taught you,

it only taught you how to fight

loud demons, violent demons with

gunshots for words, demons with

grenade explosions for facts,

death for reality, and the smell of rotten human

meat in streets for cologne,

but it didn't teach you how to

be human did it? 

You served your country, but

it never served you,

you're probably the product of a

corrupt government, you have

fought for a fat politician who cannot

button up his lower button without

holding in his dirty breath,

you think you fought for something,

well, light has never been the product

of darkness, life has never been

the product of death,

plant that in your thick skull soldier,

how many fingers am I holding up,

when is your anniversary,

what's your daughter's name,

you fail to remember, the mind is

lost in limbo, blood, blood, blood and

gunpowder, why don't you just

scream louder,

maybe they will hear your pain

and your demise, or they will feel

the size of a mental bullet that hit

the bull's eye.


Die hard,

and forget to live at all,

you miss the bushes, the forests

and the suspense of a mine bomb

shredding your toes and your

bones, and dethreading the threads of

your muscles, you miss that don't you soldier?

I'm not trying to stop you from serving

your nation with pride,

but just ask yourself if the same nation

will serve you...


By Eugene 'Philosophisticater' ©


Submitted: December 30, 2018

© Copyright 2021 Philosophistication Poetry. All rights reserved.

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