They don’t understand it.
It’s just not comprehensible.
I tried to tell them-
But their senses,
they’re different.

I tell them that the morning
smells like orange.
Not yet red for battle mode-
But orange,
ready for the fight.

I tell them that the earth
sounds like thunder.
Bodies don’t bounce-
But god,
do they thud.

I tell them the trenches
feel like graves.
No coffin present-
But six feet under,
gazing up.

I tell them that the wails
taste like copper.
You can clean up the blood-
But try as you may,
more will be shed.

They don’t understand war.
It’s just not comprehensible.
I tried to tell them-
But wartime senses,
they’re different.