Sorry would be a start.
Though you cant take back your mistakes,
and you cant unravel time,
you'd think there would be remorse,
for such a self serving crime,
to send others out to die,
to pay the blood price you have decreed,
when its purely posturing and posing,
all about vanity and greed,
to secure a perceived niche in history,
glowing down the years,
is the extent of your ambition,
is the puny limit of your fears,
when those you have sent to die,
believing implicitly in you,
leave relatives behind who see,
that nothing you said was true,
there is no thought now for those,
whose number you dont count,
they are yesterdays forgotten,
though daily they still mount,
no thought of resignation,
no apology to those left behind,
just onward with the ego,
fast forward from those times,
as if nothing ever happened,
as if your lies are quite ok,
as if now is what to focus on,
and then was another day,
lost back in the mists of time,
obscured by clouds half seen,
not an affront to the living,
not impeachable and obscene,
you may want to move on now,
and ignore your past infamy,
but you should be tried for treason,
and jailed for blasphemy.
Malcolm Pugh
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Poetry |