The old men spoke of peace once more,
As fresh-faced soldiers marched away,
Beneath the weight of history
Repeating what it swore to break.

The guns grew quiet after war,
Yet silence never truly stayed,
For somewhere borders still were burning,
And mothers still knelt down to pray.

Each generation lights the fires
It promised never to ignite,
Still chasing glory through the smoke
That steals another thousand lives.

Perhaps the dead alone find rest,
Beyond the drums, the grief, the scars,
For living souls remain forever
In the endless shadow cast by war.

Paul Baldry

Inspired by the haunting words attributed to George Santayana, “Only the dead have seen the end of war,” this poem reflects on humanity’s endless cycle of conflict and remembrance. It explores how each generation inherits both the scars and the failures of the past, while ordinary people continue to carry the burden of wars they never truly escape.