Que Sera, Sera

What land of the free sends its children to the land of suicide in helmets and barbed wire when they are barely old enough to stand? And when our brothers or sisters return, I wonder if they will come home with the same legs they departed with at all or will they fall at your feet; crying out retreat until their shell shocked bodies crack the very foundations they thought protected them Lonely and forgotten Not all casualties return in body bags and staring at gravestones makes us none the wiser to criticise the poor blood spilt over the rich mans war But what would I know? The only battles I fight are with a pen; my only injuries are hand cramp and writers block, right? Wrong Dont be so quick to assume they did not leave for the land of suicide in the hopes that they never came home again