Waiting for Defeat’s Glory
By William Burns
Shallow marks of sanity
slowly dissolve into the coarse dirt
and the path is lost, gone,
covered by the rusted hue
of smoldering morality.
Oxygen, clouded with the flavor of slaughter and
gore, poisons war-torn throats as
nauseating tranquility harmonizes
with the jovial banter of young
victors clearing the field of unwanted prisoners.
Bloodshot eyes strain to find
solace in glorious death,
but corpses weigh heavier
on the mind than the body,
and morose mentality must endure.
breaking the silence while
aiding to its thick oblivion,
cut short by clogged lungs punctured
with routine efficiency.
The wretched stench
of carcasses rotting in the fields
hasten the pace of ineffable butchery.
Crows screech with envy as
flies claim the decadently prepared feast their own.
Prayers muddled with bloodied sludge
croak forward through broken teeth
and vomit caked lips.
Nearby steel stains crimson,
leaving little opportunity for final words.
Pulsing blood courses
through strained veins, as
the heart pounds rhythmically to
approaching sounds of heavy boots
sloshing steadily through the mire.
Soft rain lightly dowses mossy cobblestone,
and the mill grinds no meal.
Cattle graze over dusty pastures
as time turns history over,
and the gears of the clock slowly rust red.