The moonlight danced across the waters <br />where the breeze made ripples there. <br />Nothing stirred the stillness <br />except the lonely hoot of an owl. <br />It was as if the place <br />had desolation in the air, <br />but all that was deceptive <br />as the earth trembles <br />of men marching somewhere. <br />As the night grew longer, <br />the marching stirred the silence <br />that had been there before. <br />Soon voices barking orders <br />had ears erect. <br />Slowly the resting animals <br />now began to flee. <br />Somehow they could sense <br />two predators were about to start a war. <br />Rifles were cocked and ready, <br />their muzzles extended from each bush. <br />They would not open fire <br />until their prey was near. <br />The volley of shots sent scores of birds <br />to flight into the early morning light. <br />Shots rang out from both sides, <br />each thinking they were winning <br />for the cause they were fighting for. <br />Neither realised <br />the war would never be over <br />so long as both sides carried a gun. <br />That could be a picture from any battlefield, <br />it’s only when they give up their weapons <br />and sit around a table and talk to one another <br />will wars ever end. <br />Until that day comes along <br />the death toll will rise <br />always at an alarming rate. <br />The ghosts of thousands <br />still roam across every battlefield, <br />never ever resting <br />until the final shot is fired. <br /> <br />8 February 2008<br /><br />David Harris<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-final-shot-is-fired/
