The Clutch of War

As I look at his grave, hot tears flooding my eyes,
Numerous memories become vivid in my mind
The light-hearted man who sat near the fireplace, reading his children their favorite stories, each one piled on to his lap
The man who left in the airport, clothed in his camouflage suit, as I waved goodbye with these same tears, now torrents due to this final goodbye
I now gaze at the sole remainder of a common soldier who sacrificed his life
He will never be forgotten, for he was the father and husband who shall live on
With his memory in our hearts and his presence in our souls

As I look at that insignificant piece of stone – monotonous, grey, and cold,
the only memory of his past,
I think to myself, why would War take away one of his best
He tears at those desperate men, until they are left to plead for his sympathy
Crimson blood dyes the once coal-colored soil, the dreary battlefield, as men fight to their deaths
With War hanging over the shoulders, whispering their names
Large guns in hand, they limp about on the liquid ground of blood
War glares at them, mocking them for their ignorance, their lack of knowledge
No one can escape him, not even the most courageous of them all
He is known to be cruel and reckless, toying with the lives of the men who presume they can evade his grasp

Now I stand here, with a burden on my shoulders, and I can’t help but wonder if it was worth it at all
To allow my husband to give himself over to the clutch of war
To let him stand on that blood-spattered battlefield, knowing he might fall