Afghanistan
By Peggy Everett
There are some fights it seems we must…
But friends and villains turn to dust.
Let’s leave our lovely flags unfurled:
For every life, we end the world.
Two thousand of our troops have died.
Untold thousand Afghans hide.
So many children hurt or killed,
Talents stopped and voices stilled.
Obstinate leader will not wait:
Panic at each airport gate.
2 trillion dollars is the price,
No matter how you roll the dice.
20,000 of ours are maimed,
Some for life, forever lamed.
Our wounded and our gold stars pay
The price of conflict every day.
So glorious their memories be
Who gave their lives for liberty.
When we surmise the ghastly cost,
It’s hard to fathom how we lost.
As our longest war abruptly ends,
The Taliban hunts down our friends.
With all the blood and treasure spent,
This nightmare of abandonment.
The sunsets paint the snowcaps red:
The color of the blood that’s shed.
Cruel poverty does still persist,
And human rights do not exist,
And every heart will wear this stain,
But oh, what color is the pain.
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Peggy Everett is a blind poet who lives in the rural Pacific Northwest with her spouse and runs a small nonprofit for poor pets. She has been published in Sparks of Calliope, The Society of Classical Poets, St. Austin Review, Lothlorien, and Catholic Circle.