Image from hswstatic

Blame not for what you see
Pain, death, misery,
For, I also stand and gaze
Upon this shattered scene
And wonder deep within my soul
Of why this thing has been
This lush pasture that was once
A pleasant, pleasant land, now is dark. now is gone,
As time, a grain sand.

Not I, for I am but a tool
For governments so great,
That try with every life they wake
To make these mortals break,
But man is made of such greatness
That even death is handsome,
In its reward of heaven
Hell has no place for the souls of such men.

Warm sunlight fall on scattered bones,
Women, children, all are there,
With only death sweet to touch the air,
Only death sweet the kind,
Has released the agony of these minds,
It came not as falling leaves
Gently as the morn,
But hell and fury, cries and fear,
Was death to those who are resting here.

Will they rest? Who can tell,
Not I, I cannot see,
For this rifle on my back is martyr's cross to me,
To make this land free.

But I am a soldier,
This is my life
I wished it not to be,
I wished not the shadow of this same death
To spread its wings on me,
I have killed, I have maimed,
Within my sight all i could see
Is what i was told, the enemy,
Such words, words will not mend the hate,
The destruction in the hearts of men.

All this, war, hate and pain.
This must be, for man is a victim of his own inheritance
Of which death is the only glory.
Man is a soldeir,
Death come not easy to a soldier
[Credit JUDITHE LIMBACHIA]