Where's My Medal?
October 13, 2011 at 10:25pm

Almost forty years old and I have not killed another soul.
Four decades on this planet, and yet, never turned a body cold.

Where's my medal?

I haven't invaded another country, enforcing brutal will.
I couldn't go to war to kick in doors of citizens and kill.

Where's my damn medal?

I could never think about dropping bombs, humanitarian aid?
Taking lives, husbands and wives, orphans by grenade.

Where is my prestigious medal?

I'd never dream of murdering millions found guilty by association.
Or to send young Americans to foreign lands to defend corporations.

Where's my glorious medal?

I wouldn't start wars, behind deception, spilling blood for oil.
I can't stand the one who commands death to all on foreign soil.

Where's my worthless medal?

I couldn't make up a terrorist plot to use as a guise for war.
To use my power to bring down the towers, a blood thirsty whore.

Where's my sexy medal?

I wouldn't use words to cause fear like "weapons of mass destruction".
Or, an "Evil Axis" full of "terrorists" to justify Haliburton's construction.

Where is my oily medal?

I could never feel a day of sanity if I were filling the Garden of Stone.
Pin a star on their chest, lay them to rest, a soldier's uniformed bones.

Where's my "to die for" medal?

I can't understand glorifying murder with silver stars and purple hearts.
Or following orders from four-star shoulders, brainwashed from the start.

You can keep your fucking medal.

Dropping bombs, drone attacks, millions of lives have been ceased.
Look with your eyes and realize the prize is only the mark of the beast.

Wm G Smith (DancingSioux) ~ 10/13/2011