Cannon Fodder

The live men and the dead men march to war,
Their difference glimpsed by fate, yet all the same.
Those last far off goodbyes resonant
In proud and frightened minds that rise aflame,
But cannot contemplate their greatest dread
To come this way again with thoughts dark lead.

The spirits of the dead will march beside
An army living only for the day,
To lead them onto battle stricken soil
So they may guide tomorrow’s on their way,
Whose quarrels don’t extend to faceless souls,
Murder men they must, their conscience sold.

With quivered hands on guns they wait in line,
Pounding fear in every tunic’s breast,
So trench’s ridge gives way to evil pasture,
And ammunition flies on Satan’s quest.
As drums of glory beat out war’s self worth
The blood of nations' youth will join the earth.

To those lords who dwell past sanctuary’s gate
A soldier live or dead is just a corpse,
Shorn of will, imprisoned by a state
To fight a bloody war, their master’s cause.
Another thousand lie as twisted flesh
Ten hundred chits to fill then start afresh

© Teeming Universe 2008