Heroes die heroically

though sometimes its

tragic

Nearly always it's a waste

 

Hot blood on cold sand

old men's reflections

on their young champions

death

 

Medals of gallantry

glasses raised

toasts given

but reality

chimes

spilt guts

tears of fear

lonely cries for

your mother

 

Let's rise a glass

To our dead heroes

though maybe

it would be wiser

to cures the fools

who sent them

to their doom

 

Only to add

valour to their own

 egos

flaccid politicians

hunting for power

with the blood

of our boys

where's the valour

in that

 

I drain my glass