War. The ultimate. The pinnacle of friend or foe.

Always declared by the high and fought out by the low.

Elevated to the state of honourable feud.

Fought to capitulation or death. Either him or you.



Cannon fodder dressed up proud to fight or even die.



Carrying cross of Christ, the star of David, Swastika or

word of God, the hammer and the sickle or banner

splattered with your blood. Camouflaged and drilled

you await all hell in confidence, at peace. Blown apart,

one could not tell your brains from your feet.



As your spirit slips away and Earth drinks from your blood.

The irony is that the last thing you'll think is -