The Victory with No Victor

Though splendid my country,
once it did fall to an enemy,
a tyrant 4,500 miles away chose us as entry
to a continent of workers far too friendly.

Did we fall? Yes. Did we rise? Yes,
like the never-ending rhythm of lights,
the victories of each country neatly dressed,
along with the victims who now peacefully rest.

No one achieved what they wanted—
only a victory with no victor,
for the war only did our patriotism elate,
leaving the rule in the hands of another dictator.

Years and years the fight went on,
soldiers at play swept away,
with nothing to distinguish between night and dawn,
the fireworks going day after day.

When at last flags did rise, not one but two,
both waving proudly in the air—who fought for which, no one knew.

Years have rolled on and on,
men still dressing the haunted wounds.
Should a single flag rise tomorrow,
then a war which did nothing but our patriotism elate,
leaving a victory with no victor.

---

Originally published on Paradise Lost.