Beneath the banners, stained with greed,
A soldier falls to feed the need.
Not for honor, nor pride,
But for the whims where egos hide.

In rooms where leaders sit and scheme,
Their power is built on shattered dreams,
They paint the world in shades of hate,
While sealing futures, sealing fate.

With every lie they boldly sell,
A soldier's life becomes a shell.
Their hands are clean, their hearts are cold,
While youth are sent, their lives fold.

Their hunger for the throne is vast,
In selfish wars, they find their past.
They stir the flames, then turn away,
While soldiers die in skies of grey.

Don’t glorify the blood they spill,
For politics is not the will.
Don’t call them heroes in disguise,
While power-driven leaders rise.

They sit at tables, blind to pain,
Their greed is the reason for the strain.
Immature, they never seek the peace,
Only wars that never cease.

So, remember him, not with pride,
But as a soul, they’ve cast aside.
A soldier’s death is not the cost
In the games they play, lives are lost.

Instead, look to the peace we crave,
Beyond the grave, beyond the wave.
For war, fuelled by their ego’s might,
Will never bring us back to light.

.    .    .