Written after reading chapter four of Helen Zenna Smith's Not So Quiet...

"To an Unknown Soldier"

War is not beautiful, but duty can be.
Going where sent to protect the free
Makes the ones who sent you feel good;
They think that they have done exactly what they should.
They think that it's an honor to have you for a son;
Your contribution to the fight may get the battle won.
But they do not see the horrors that you know,
The bodies that lay frozen deep within the snow
Of comrades and soldiers, of valuable men,
Mere cannon fodder where life should have been.
The ones left are shell-shocked and limb-lost,
The line has been crossed.
You see it in their eyes but you cannot respond;
Your own survival is too precious to allow for such despond.
To those not on the front lines, duty is abstract;
To you it's just the fight to keep all of your limbs intact.
I commend you for your service; I wish there was no need
But while it is I will lament your sacrificial deed.
I know that you won't read this and I know it is in vain,
For war is ugly and these words do nothing for your pain.
Keep doing what you're doing and someday we may learn
That honor lies in peace instead of some poor soldier's urn.