The word “war” is a feminine gender word in nearly every language in the world.
Every time I meet a veteran, whether it be in person or on a social media site, I have this urge to hug them and say, “Hello. Thank you, brother.” There is no conceivable way to do that. I remembered this poem, however, and hope it will suffice in place of hand shakes and hugs that I cannot dole out to strangers across the globe.
I am quite shy, or perhaps just hold my private life dear, so I don’t often share my poetry. For anyone who’s been to war, you know talking about it to anyone at all just leaves you feeling cheap like you’ve betrayed a sacred secret. I also imagine the world would not jump at the thought of reading poetry on war, yet the topic sadly will always be in the air. So to those veterans and to everyone here is something I wrote when I returned from the “war-zone” and reflected on this creature we call “war”… May it sooth your broken souls, hearts, and make us all a little wiser in the years to come.
by Drea Damara
She takes all men that cross her path.
She’s neither snobbish nor choosey,
But don’t mistake numbers as trash-
She’s a lover, not a floozy.
She holds you in her arms at worst
And fills you up like no other.
She never leaves, she’s never gone-
She’s a doting fertile mother.
Her charms abound in many ways.
With lust and wrath and pride she wins.
She is all the devil could want,
Or men looking for deadly sins
Your best, your worst, your polished chest,
Your hollowed soul, your heavy heart-
She’ll somehow conquer and win you;
For you, she’ll always find a part.
Your tired, your hungry, your greedy,
Your evil, your wicked, your poor-
A deception all consuming
That goes by the name of “War”.