This the senseless war As I look out in the distant land I hear the sound of rifles firing their rounds into the air. And as the night progresses on I hear the sounds of popping not of bags but of mortars firing their rounds into the air in this the senseless war. And as the night progresses to day you hear the sounds of guns not small one but big ones called artillery firing their rounds into the air, and as you look to the sky you see planes flying overhead not small ones but big ones called B-52's in this the senseless war. And as the bombs are being dropped there are cheers below not because we have hatred in our heart but because we are praying that the bombs get the ones who are trying to get us in this the senseless war. And as we go from day to day we think not of killing and hatred but we think of the girl we left at home and pray she is there when we return from this the senseless war. Well, the war has ended the rifles have fired their last rounds, the popping is of bags now, not mortars, the guns are small ones called pop guns the artillery is put in there armories, and the planes are in their hangers in this the senseless war. And oh yes as for the girl you left at home she is gone too and all that is left is the Memories of this this senseless war.
© April 7, 1968 PFC James H. Meyer For Another Poem by James H. Meyer Since January 21, 2000
 
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