Sunday, March 13, 2011

Cleaning Crew (Soldier Chronicle Volume Two)

Rise, be quiet but rise, rise soon
The sun is cradling the hairline
Of the wheat fields and moments we must prepare

Radio crackles and sky ignites
No fleshless crop survives the fight

Cleaning crew

Common courtesy to allow living clean the fields of their dead
Spriteful eyes commandeering from above
Yet they cannot see what is not shown

Apparently it takes a special kind of soldier
To walk among his friends, or those dressed like you
Who one day could have been close to you,
And push aside the items of least concern,
Scoop up bone, typically barren and cold, results not from
Cannibals to my knowledge, but carrion circling the sky-line
Searching for its next meal
Collect, do best to identify,
This duty seems without merit, but families need to bury family, yet that alone cannot compensate for the desensitizing you’ve endured, you hate your position, nothing could they say, and then you find, amongst the chipped bony processes, the dangled, mangled remains of a best of friend, you see a chest rise and fall, bloodshot and outlook not good, but if it weren’t for you and your crew, chance for this soldier would not ever be in play.   Days like this I thank God for this position, this role I play.

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