Our
valor you reward with scars and dread.
The
honors you bestow leave good men maimed.
Though
back from battle, lauded with loud cheer,
the
din of combat rings on in the head
of
each who’s seen things better left unnamed
that
slaughtered friends and comrades still held dear.
Your
vultures spread their wings in sun to dry
the
stench of carrion from bloody death
picked
over, after ravaged by your dogs,
while
armies, trained to never ask you why,
rush
on until they huff-in Hades’ breath
to
join him in his misty world of fogs.
Heroic
soldiers, these who are now gone,
will
never know whose side you’re really on.