Boy Soldier Poem by Leon Moon

that pride must be snatched
in order for the feast
to reason to receive,
this is our motto posthac!
an empire flung; the dream
woman must not let man leave.

the rain danced like fire
and mud was at the mercy of water
but never frozen,
friends bled still
in images
the future could not
behead.

it was a rotting
unlike the guilt of victory
but as vicious
as the ease of squeezing steal,
grand children bound, blind
to the smell of burning flesh.

the frontiers of heart
strew, midnight mass
praised the sanctity
of founding nowhere;
another year the wind
taught to die in silence.

trenches used for streams
formed life from the sun's tears,
cups with burnt holes
stuck like flags from our ears;
another world forgotten
in the solemn blossom.

that pride must be snatched
in order for the feast
to reason to receive,
this is our motto posthac!
an empire won; the seed
mothers water to bleed.