Kellogg-Briand - 1928

           
                For a century they've talked of peace, and handed round the Prize. They praised the juicy golden fleece which Nobel's funding buys. They've made announcements without end while war has raged each year, and patted fancy rumps of friends while peace-drunk folks did cheer.
            Hurray for Frank and Aristide, forgetting saints like Gore, who never managed their greatest deed, to bring an end to war. But oh the cheering, oh the talk, it makes hearts leap for joy, while soldiers died to walk the walk, the youngest just a boy.
            Kellogg-Briand agreed to whit to make an end of war; this Pact of Paris was but shit, and soon would Nazis pour all over the city of shining light which sang of love and peace, and never really waged a fight, a gaggle of impotent geese.
            "Outlaw war" had been declared and then declared again, as victims screamed and sirens blared for war still came to men. Hurray for the stuffed shirts and their talk, their treaties, stuffed with peace. For so many years they've learned with shock that warfare will not cease. Kellogg-Briand felt oh so grand, so pure, so fine, so true, but those folks had never really planned to fight for freedom's due. Declare the peace and count the cash and make the fancy speech, but reality intervenes, to smash such pacts and words they preach.

            Fifteen nations signed the pact of peaceful Paris in that time, and shortly Paris was then attacked while the peace pact was in its prime. A legacy of ideal thought is thereby well assured, while war still rages, still is fought, and Kellogg-Briand remains absurd.

 

Copyright © 2010 by Gary Bachlund