Like ants they march,
towards their death.
Pawns in the games of chess.
Soldiers march, rifles fire.
People fall, worlds gone black.
One by one, they ride the steed of oblivion,
leaving behind their lives for their oaths.
King and country.
But where is the king? Where is the country?
Nowhere. Nowhere to be seen.
Spirits fly into the sky.
Never to be seen again.
Heavens outstretched, souls seeping in the crack in the sky,
One by one the soldiers march,
into the gates of their labour.
And as the soldier approachs the gate,
to St. Peter he will tell.
'Just another soldier reporting for duty, sir.
I've served my time in hell'
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.