I Once Held in My Hands

It is hard to think about it
nearly all my life
I have lived with war

I have not been a soldier
but I am not ashamed.
The wars of my lifetime
were all built on lies

As a child I once held in my hands
the helmet of my Grandfather
who was sent to fight the Germans.

My Grandfather survived
but held many physical and mental wounds
I thought he was a hero,
a broken warrior
My Grandfather didn’t try think about it at all

When my generation walked as young children
we believed we would recreate the world
This was our belief;
as we shuffled through leave
and shot each other with guns made of sticks

Still the circle of insanity revolves


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Filed under History, poetry

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