179600
4
The night wolf calls its mournful tune.
Across now silent barren killing fields,
To a lonesome bloodshot moon
A cold wind, roars past...
nonchalant
Blows away the last car
in my train of thought
focused...
Over desolate battlefields
where only yesterday hails of bullets, flew
So many tore thru flesh and bone
Found their mark
stripped defiant souls
Of those brave hearted G.I. Joes
Wanting to be genuine heroes
Now that medal...
won!
just as sure as many more fathers
Mothers, others, lovers sisters, brothers,
babies cry
as another trainload of souls lost...
leaves the station
awaiting... time to stop
To be ferried across the wastelands,
With littered corpses,
each lined up neatly beneath a pure white cross
Posing last pictures dressed in old glory
Patriotic songs will be sung,
by both sides
While the replacement players enter the field
Ready to be chambered
each a round
poised/primed
for the next slaughter
Waiting for the next round,
anticipating, scared
Still others lie in silence
eyes pointed skyward, blank expression
those who have kept their heads
awaiting final inspection
With spit polished boots
Rifles standing guard duty.
You have died well, sons and daughters
Did your duty this day for Uncle Sam
going home...
Dress blues, on duty
For the very last time.
Dusted, waxed, coffins...
Perfectly posed corpses, chilled,
Bagged, tagged flagged, a solemn tale,
for some flourishes, bagpipes and drums
as the river Styx is crossed.
Next...
As the steam whistle of hope...
Starts to wheeze and cough…
As the city streets
explode into violence
Sputters out a final wheeze,
then abruptly chokes
that signals its last moment's warning
Lights flashing in anger, silently screaming
Like a banshee
whoa there slick!
There's danger ahead
you'd best be prepared to stop
But, too late...
Bullets fly
The heartbeat ceases
With a crash, a thud, a screech and a pop
When the smoke clears
Chalk silhouettes… mark the final resting spot
Both the victim and perpetrator
Dance to death, dressed in blood
Like a wounded elk's
Trying to catch it's last breath
As the hungry wolves
circle excitedly
Anticipating the impending consummation
Of the hunt, counting down... moments
To the very last breaths of life
doing the dance of death
ready for a fresh kill
again and again
Still, again ride
with the storm...
Even as sirens last wail echoes…
end abruptly
Shadowed whispers call no more
Six pall bearers march in silence
with glazed eyes racing down the path
facing the gangland initiation
Of the only future they will ever
know
Teased by their daredevil friends
Brazenly mocking death's door
Look whose talking
…now
Death awaits
C2
Copyright ©2008 Charles Edward Fields 2
