the war could not be stopped

the man had gone off to war
and as you probably know
he took a child on his back,
pampered head to toe.
they made such a strange scene,
arms waving to the sky
in spite of bullets incoming
and the toy lamb they both watched die.
with the boy on his shoulders,
the man stood his ground
poised with his ears alert
for any threatening sound.
he saw an old woman
who tried to speak but fell;
she looked to be beyond saving
as far as he could tell.
he learned she spoke in anger
about the wasting and the death
of fine young men and women
called to draw their final breath.
each home in town was damaged
and far into the countryside
were people walking aimlessly
with nowhere safe to hide.
leaning into a hard wind,
he wrote a letter to his youth
pledging to turn away from stories
which promised everything but truth.
his child's eyes seemed to linger
out of focus and looking down
to flower shops and candy stores
where nothing sacred could be found.
the shouts and screams of men;
explosions and flying steel
so hot it buried innocence
he didn't know how to feel.
in the air was pure adrenaline
when a missile quickly dropped.
no early warning would have helped:
the war could not be stopped.