Words of Propaganda

Posted on Apr 19, 2012


Nineteen-eighteen and the war
does end
This young man to Passchendaele
a year before he was sent
Still in his twenties yet
eyes so old
He shivers from much
and not from the cold

Back home he arrives to
a country torn
To Ireland’s green
fields he was born
His people spit and
turn their backs
As he heads home
with a heavy backpack

He left his home to
do the right thing
A peace to this world
he tried helping to bring
But words of propaganda
spoken still
By the ignorant and greedy
no humanity they feel

He holds his mother close
Tears run down her face
This ghost of a son
who fought for his race
Inside he goes and
words are spoken
But deep inside
He is now broken

For he’s seen war
for what it is
Never again will he
at them jeer
Those who he was
meant to hate
Who feel the same
as he, their cruel fate

Posted in: Poetry