There’s an old lie, that says
that it’s sweet and fitting to die.
That we should fall so a nation can rise
has always been the soldier’s plight–
but tell me again of the glory of war
and what we should lay down lives for.
Were we ruled by men like Cyrus the Great,
perhaps there would be glory in the fight.
If freedom was really the cause of such ominous fate,
perhaps it would be fitting to have died
and cast our blood as Phlox into salted foreign soil,
but alas our rulers are not the same:
they’d throw us deep into the pit of death
to feed the men who laugh at digging graves.
The Poetry Of J.P. 