The Profiteers
Who profits from
these wars we wage?
The ones who read
the Wall Street page.
The young men fight.
The young men die
and do not know
the reason why?
For if they knew
they'd not be there.
Then there'd be silence
in the air.
The profiteers would
sit in rage
while reading again
the Wall Street page.
Sweet Mother of God
can they not find
another way
within their mind
to profit from
some other means
besides these
bloody awful scenes?
poem by Edwina Reizer
Added by Poetry Lover
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