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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=399739" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The stuffed men</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">I</div><div style="margin:10px 0">We are the men stuffed with what<br>society needs us to be<br>and when the government draws the strings<br>we jump; we obey against our own will, <br>we are the stuffed men who were taught<br>lethal skills to be turned on and off<br>like mere machines<br>to be unleashed against a enemy<br>consisting out of other men<br>and our lives, our own humanity<br>to the government is totally meaningless.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">II</div><div style="margin:10px 0">We were shaped and formed<br>and forced into military training camps<br>into a stark cohesion<br>where the individual soul perishes<br>and the group reigns supreme<br>where those who goes into eternity, <br>goes into death, knows us<br>as if we are some of them<br>where violence, killing is measured out<br>by great and sincere men<br>who like rag dolls are stuffed, <br>like marionettes have to obey<br>the commands given to them.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">III</div><div style="margin:10px 0">In dreams there are eyes that we avoid, <br>situations that reoccur, <br>the stark reality of living<br>after others have perished<br>and reliving through the slaughter of war<br>as if we were made for greater things<br>and have eternal difficulty to comprehend<br>sending men to their end<br>and voices, screams, events, people and places<br>stays with us<br>and the pain, the desolation<br>return in dreams <br>as if they are trying to draw us to the kingdom <br>where death reigns supreme.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">IV</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The battlefields remain, <br>where from burial trenches<br>images rise, where shot-out tanks<br>armoured cars and weapons of war<br>that were destroyed are nothing more<br>than rusting metal coffins<br>left in the wind and rain<br>and forever remain as testimony<br>of the cruelty of man<br>under the lonely stars of the Southern Cross<br>and these places are now left alone<br>are only visited by wild animals<br>digging up the bones of killed men<br>to gnaw on them.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">V</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But we are destined to return<br>in memories, in thoughts and ultra realistic dreams<br>to these valleys of death and desolation, <br>to the bushy plains<br>where corpses lie as skeletons<br>and eyeless gaze at the setting sun<br>as if these are the last places<br>where we meet with the effect<br>of the deeds that we were forced <br>to participate in<br>and in this world of sin<br>the stars of the Southern Cross<br>seems to give direction<br>to another world beyond<br>and not just to determining<br>how to go north.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">[Reference: The Hollow Men by T. S. Eliot.]</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Gert+Strydom">Gert Strydom</a><div class=q>
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We are the men stuffed with what
society needs us to be
and when the government draws the strings
we jump; we obey against our own will, 
we are the stuffed men who were taught
lethal skills to be turned on and off
like mere machines
to be unle..."></div>
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