Only the dead have seen the end of war: Plato

I wrote this poem, concerning the issues that shaped me, around 14 years ago.


SOMETIMES FOREVER

War-babies' babies
Born in a summer of love
when insect gurus preached intrinsic needs,
and a hundred million voices demanded
Peace beneath a pall of napalm,
Born in a summer that seemed to rock
old-school-tie establishments, as two
colours clashed in a new land
full of star-striped rockets and broken promises.

Through spangled platform Glitter-days
And power-starved nights of pitch
us War-babies' babies -
Bright sparks of a new revolution -
Played safe in childhood innocence; oblivious
As Her Blue tide banked against Brother Red.
Then God - aged ten in seventy-seven - rebuked
Its queen with subversive children's lyrics,
As we partied - Jubilee - in carefree fancy dress.

At fifteen or there abouts, us War-babies' babies
clapped and cheered as we saw the lads off
with a smile (They'd pursue Her imperial quest)
Whilst we probed with minds and fingers, seeking
to plunder virgin treasures in hyper-hormone frenzies.
And when they returned from their scrap with the scrap-metal
Merchants, we showed our support with more cheering,
And our broad smiles were mirrored by the tight smiles
of the Dead, lying cold and alone beneath Falkland turf.

When Her Blue tide drowned all miner resistance;
With major aggression she quelled the peasant spirit:
Spitting coal-dusted lies compressed in diamond offerings,
Her 'wealth' and 'equality' kissed the arse of the many-faced Dollar,
And sold us all off, bit by bit, to the highest Private bidder.
Then Druid stones were defiled: Her corporate army scattering
Anarchy with blunted blows, sent the Celtic tribes back into the hills
And plucked out the Soul from the Heart of the Nation,
Whilst the War-babies' babies lapped up all the bull-shit.

Sick cultures grow on fertile manure,
In the un-education from Teachers and Leaders preaching
Needs of the 'Self' and Brother/Sister greed.
Blinkered War-babies' babies bought up all the shares
And sold their souls for a slice of space-cake,
Tripped out on credit, then debated along
vast emphatic amphetamine lines of pseudo-concern,
Concealing Apathy with pathetic gestures
of allegiance, to a lost and forgotten cause.

War-babies' babies, brought up
on a diet of continuing strife,
Saturated by the torrents of tears which pour
from the eyes of too many children:
Afghan; Bosnian; Chechen; Dalmatian -
The alphabet's riddled with so many bullets -
Rwandan; Sri-Lankan; Tanzanian; Ugandan:
Our summer of love belied the simple truth that
Forever we are Deaf - Forever we are Dumb - Forever we are Blind.
Forever will belong to War-babies' babies.