By Robert Gaut

We get glimpses of the new war
from the safety of our homes.
We must wait for the reports
history writers write in tomes.

We don't hear the dreadful sounds,
nor do we see the face of death.
We imagine streaking vapor trails
are an avenging angel's breath.

We are confident our warriors
have been assiduously trained.
They'll fight where they find
a mean and rough terrain.

Politicians and pundits clamor
impatiently for results.
What they hear is replicated
on each broadcast for adults.

On a future distant day
we'll hear of battles won.
Polls will measure satisfaction
until the war is done.

Our window to this conflict
is clouded we now find.
We must wait and ponder
war's effect upon mankind.

Somewhere a drum keeps cadence
with its slow and steady beat.
Veteran's Day parades are moving
to the thump of soldiers feet.

They've marched in every nation;
blood's been shed in every land.
No one's effected a solution
everyone can understand.

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