Storm Grove Press

By:
Spencer Knierim



war

Eternal night be damned.
Waves of able bodies spent and reloaded,
Littering the field of battle.

Prayers hover like acrid smoke.
Faces contort in primeval masks,
Battling reason with duty.

Good men die as ordered.
Mothers' sons in other lives,
Paraded for a species' lust for arms.

Coming day be damned.
Waking birds sing their quiet chorus,
Allowing no allusions on our nights work.