Glory

Glory, Glory, so they say, comes to you when you have won the day.
Glory comes when the stench of corpses grips your senses,
When, in the fields, the bodies burn
 in magnificent effigies to the cause.
To what cause?
There is no glory in war.

To watch millions die in your sight,
Then watch a million die again in dreamy fright.
Then to imagine them dead again eternally -
Immortal soldiers that die every night,
Forgotten to all but the few; the few who had won their glory, right?
But there is no glory in war.

But glorious you are! a medal is given
To represent such a momentous occasion.
But what occasion would have you lose yourself?
I am not a soldier, for I am a man,
But I am not a man, for what I’ve done -
So what am I? Now that the cause has been forgotten.
There is no glory in war.