The brume musters above domes
and fields covered in cinder.
Coil umbras marshal forward into the coppices,
into the timbers which serve as aides and
there patiently wait for peace.
You contradict yourselves.
Fathers, where do you send them?
For they have nothing yet to acknowledge and listen to only you,
who are not gallant as to chaperon, hence yell just.
Brothers, worms crawl at your feet;
the Raven awaits you among groots,
on a Column of Pyramids infinite,
the end of a Gate, a Path, and a Table of Twelve and One.
Mothers, why do you weep,
when your cries cease in face of your beloved?
Why do you send them
to hamlets with parched lawn and
Children, why do you have lilies on your chests?
Wednesday, October 25, 2017
Topic(s) of this poem: children,war