Occision
 
Folks may think the act of occision
Can be done with nonchalant precision,
Not realizing the frights
That may permeate their nights
As the result of this fateful decision.
 
It's a definite fact, to be sure,
That it's very difficult to inure
The mind to the strain
Of ignoring the pain
It inevitably must endure.
 
Some march off cheerily to war,
Revved up and totally cocksure;
But they’ll eventually discover
Mars is a most demanding lover
Who’ll suck them dry to the core.
 
So they learn as years slip on by,
While suffering the ghostly cries
Echoing through dreams
Punctuated by screams
From friends as their turns come to die.
 
Occision: a rare word for kill
(You can fancy it up as you will)
But after the perorations
Of politicians’ orations
Who always winds up with the bill?
 
© T. P. Woodfork 4/1/2005