The soldiers come marching forth
In stiff rows they file clad in Khaki green
Steady and straight forward on their course

Like rows of wheat, they will fall fast
Onto the patiently waiting ground
Fleeting thoughts feed dying minds
Cries from bloodied mouths
They utter their last sounds

The drums of death are calling
Resonating loud, deep and clear
To the ones you held fast to your breast as infants
Your heart now holds so dear

It is useless to tell the sun do not set
Nor can you bring back the dead
As they lay still in rubble and dirt
Marked with the color red

To the masters of chaos
They are mere frames of dispensable flesh
Their lives having no meaning except to feed the war machine
From humble birth until their violent end

The drums of death are calling loudly
To your sons
And to your daughters
Leading them down the path of crimson
Once treaded having no recourse
Onto the plains of slaughter.

All Rights Reserved @ Tammy M. Darby March 3, 2022
All Material Stored in Author Base.