On War

All wars start with hope which always proves mere self deception.
How juvenile it is, like children who must throw their toys upon the floor,
All anger and conceit, greed and grandiose perception
Which only can achieve destruction, nothing more;
For even the “victor” will be mired in debt and currency inflation.
Then in the ruins that are left, and the bitter feelings of the just defeated,
The seeds so sown will grow like weeds until the whole sad business is repeated.
For we never learn, and vanity remains and drives us back and back again
To wars, which promised short, drag on forever.
The heroes die and rightly are remembered.
The leaders though cannot be mocked enough, and might be better judged insane.



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