A Way Of Life Slowly Lost

I often think of warriors who fought the fight
To ensure that our way of life was kept right
In arenas of cruel harsh terrain, day and night
Desert, jungle and mountain height
Their bed a mattress of rock or muddy ground
Home a shell scrape or behind a dirt mound
A smothering dark bunker of sandbagged earth
Perhaps seeking cover behind a hardy tree of large girth

Hungry, thirsty, weary and desperate for sleep
Keep going forward into hell; no time to weep
Heart thumping, adrenalin rushing and scared
Yet still wondering how mates had fared
Cooling a fevered brow or holding the hand of a dying mate
Restless dreams of love, fear, death and hate
Offering life and limb for a precious cause to the very last
There was no turning back and the die was cast

They returned to a hard won life with new dreams begun
In time did they wonder who had really lost or won?
The cause defended with such pain and loss of life
Slowly being corrupted with greed and social strife
Drugs; suicides; I’m right Jack and a Nanny Land with more red tape
Few walk the street at night for fear of thugs and rape
Home invasions, car- jacks and a justice system gone mad
Thieves, con-men and child molesters go free; it seems no one’s bad

Selling land to foreign interest and even buying back our water
What’s bloody next? Selling off our daughters?
To ignore political correctness is considered a social sin
Xmas trees and Easter eggs could soon be in the bin
Where is the vision for our tomorrow neath the Southern Cross?
Given our national debt, perhaps under the thumb a foreign boss?
Religious hatred brewing where it never used to be
Lest we forget; what happened to our precious life style so free?
George Mansford © May 2013