The Price of War

In halls of power, where age commands,

The fate of youth in distant lands.

Elders decree with steady hands,

The young to fight on war-torn sands.

.

Not theirs the blood, the sweat, the tears,

But on young shoulders lie their fears.

Through time, this cycle, ever clear,

Commands the young, while old steer.

.

From plush seats of comfort and of might,

They send the young to distant fight.

A paradox of age and youth,

In pursuit of their own truth.

.

In every wrinkle, story deep,

Lies a tale that cannot sleep.

Do these lines speak of love or hate,

Or just a power that can’t abate?

.

The young, with vigor, life, and fire,

March to fulfill old men’s desire.

In their eyes, a question burns,

For each bullet, the world turns.

.

Can wisdom old and youth so brave,

Together find a path to pave?

Where peace, not war, is the true quest,

In pursuit of mankind’s true best.

.

Let voices rise, both young and old,

In resounding dialogue, brave and bold.

In unity, our stories told,

For peace, our shared and precious goal.

.

~ Freedom