Masters of War

I see their hard cold steel eyes,
         in every place of conflict and hate.
In places where innocent lives are torn and shattered,
         these pagan gods abound.
Soulless ones,  thoughts measured in profit and loss,
         Damn the human cost.
I see the ribs pronounced of starving children,
         with solemn, eyes.
Helpless, hopeless  children,
         await their fate.
While the masters of war are feasting, laughing,
         in their mansions fine.
A young mother wails ,
         over her dying child.
Profit margins  are increasing,
         work continues unceasing.
Young man lies bleeding,
          his legs torn asunder.
Masters have created,
          new treat most hideous.
Guns, bombs, and bullets, make money,
          death increases sales.
To hell with human lives,
          who cares how  many future doctors, poets die.
There is money to be made,
           they sit in their golden citadels  untouched.