Not sure to what extent this really would qualify as poetry, it's sort of drawn from the scraps of little bits and bobs that I write and am yet to find a home for.
But it's not exactly prose either. So here it is.
Yes, our peace-protests and sit-ins never stopped the war, I'll grant you that. We fought the war and the war won, we never made a difference; but the point that perhaps you're missing is that your war never made a difference either. None of it would ever make a difference. You never took a life that wasn't already doomed to die, you didn't bring a freedom that humans could live up to, the terrorists weren't stopped, nations still stockpile WMDs and tomorrow morning you'll still be stuck in traffic on the way to work. We were just trying to tell you that, before you marched to your silly deaths. We just wanted you to know that there is nothing worth fighting for, and no one worth dying for. But it doesn't matter, it's cool. Everybody lost, we lost I think.
Though we laughed the most, our side remembered to laugh.
There are things worth living for, and living as.
Do you understand, that we didn't need to win? We already had our Holy Grail.
That's how a man can stand in front of a column of tanks; do you understand that at least?