Last breaths are taken

Injured are looked after

Cries of pain still ring out

People mourn, racked with sobs

For family, friends

Who never will be seen again

Prisoners are guarded

The winning team drinks a toast

People miss arms, legs and eyes

The battlefield is red from blood

Strewn with disembowelled bodies

Bits of brain, flesg and bone

Half full and empty guns lie around, abandoned

Graes are dug

People mourn again

Hating the memories,

Of something so inhuman

Years pass

The people try to forget

The children do, easily enough

But old people find it harder

For they have better memories of it

It can take a long time,

Decades and centuries to recover

From this inhuman thing

From this inhuman thing