Profits of War

Open your cupboard, your cabinet too,
That which  holds something of value to you!
Empty the wine skins and drain the barrels,
But take with us oil from hard caught wales!
Remove it all that we may retire,
Then take the lamp, and with it, set on fire
The house, the home, and with it the barn too!
Yet take from the stables the mares though few;
Spare not a single treasure you find here!
Lest our chore not go to her head, and rear
Up, as a child, the idea that we cared:
Take then all her things, as she when we fared
Against the bitter cold and winter's chill:
When she left us for dead in rotten hill...

Remember as though through watery grave
When we asleep you slipped, an errant knave,
Right past our watchmen chasing dreams from hurt;
And coming back you stabbed him. For your work
Could not be satisfied in thievery,
Though you stole all, gold and Brievery
You took alike as spoils from weary hands
That slept and dreamed of home in far off lands.
So look into the mirror and see where
Your fortunes have led you to be; horror
Fill you to think of the crimes that share
With those that do profit from men of war.
Look into this book which you stole from me,
Where Peter did strike pain and misery... 

                                                Profits of War, (c) Luke Bennette, April 2012