Conquerors Poem by J. James Martinez

Our four arms
Have carried
So much weight
So much rain
So much mud
Heavy boots
Trudge
Heavy heads
From
Fool's gold crown's

Abdomen
Calves and thighs
Sore and strained
Snow and smoke and fire
Have ceased to strike fear
Ceased to account for nothing more
Than another opponent
To conquer
Faces
Flesh and bones
Have begun to blur
Become hurdles of calcium
And marrow
Nothing more than another opponent
To
Conquer