A father's hollow pride

-
No longer black or white,
wrong or right,
merely scared,
as one, coated in earth,
separated not by creed
or righteousness,
but by greed and hatred.
The poor children stand
as one.
To face the brunt
of their father's stubbornness.
Old traditions that still demand
the happiness of their children
are coaxed to stay alive
while those that still live
are condemned to die
in the foxholes
dug into the earth
on both sides.
No longer black or white,
no longer wrong or right.
They stand as one
and fall as one, side by side.
In neat little rows, buried.
There lay our brightest minds
our greatest joys,
our little soldiers, bedecked
with medals.
There they sleep, my darlings.
Their father's pride and joy.

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