The war cries deafen in thunderous dust: 
Churning Earth with mortar,
Bullets pelleting dead soldiers,
Muzzle flashes barely visible through the crust
On their viziers. War scars
Will form years after marching orders
For those who must live with memories of the lost.

Now, expletives at pain inflicted in the battle.
They tumble, we crumble,
Bone fractures, cursed mumbles.
Blood’s a minor distraction in this macabre hustle. 
Eyes half open, mouth blown off,
The bodies in cursive in troughs:
Friends will mourn friends in memory of this tussle.

OR
           thank God for the life of the fallen —
Who, rosary in hand, went forward
With the proficiency of the Bard, 
Wrote, even with axe threatening, for our calling
Into the New deadly Way,
That brings life for aye,
That speaks truth to spear, arrow, or cauldron.

The great news of Life abundantly given. 
Nero, Napoleon… all failed!
The martyrs live even impaled
For victory in human view isn’t so in Heaven.

(c) nyonglema