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Me, myself, and Irenne
Me, myself, and Irenne

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War is a pertinent issue for all of us. If it's not in Yemin, where Saudi's stop the docks, causing the biggest famine because aid supply was stopped by military out to sea with food and supplies and our politicians just turn there head. And look at North Korea, might be good for Americans politicians to say "We are willing to send troops" and they die, this time it's near me and I really do not understand how it is happening. There is no logic in war, only for the ones with the weapons, money doesn't buy peace, it funds war.

In my country, we are taught about war and told: "Lest we forget". You are damn right, people have forgotten what war really is like. This poem Dulce et Decorum Est by Wilfred Owen REMINDS US, REMINDS US, THAT PEOPLE DON'T NEED WAR. Enjoy

Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs,
And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots,
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of gas-shells dropping softly behind.

Gas! GAS! Quick, boys!—An ecstasy of fumbling
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time,
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling
And flound’ring like a man in fire or lime.—
Dim through the misty panes and thick green light,
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.

  • A green gas emitted from a grenade like device producing 'mustard gas', if you didn't get your mask on in time, you'd drown in your own fluids as the gas melts your lungs.

In all my dreams before my helpless sight,
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.

If in some smothering dreams, you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil’s sick of sin;
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,—

*You must always remember, Remind people!

My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est
Pro patria mori

  • It is fitting and noble to die for one's King

War is only for King's and Queen's
I don't want your stinking war

There is a very simple logic in a person's suffering. Over the years, weapon makers have made weapons that distance the fighter from the enemy. Back in the trenches, they'd call break to clear the dead. Our troops reported that they could not understand but heard laughing from the other trenches. They weren't monsters, they played and laughed like humans. So began the journey to horrible weapons like drones, that distance the person from death. Remind them "Lest we forget" men like Wilfred Owen.

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