The Blood of Bucephalus

Here lies the gallon of horse’s blood and soldier lies beneath this hope now dead, trapped within mans sin waiting for bayonets kiss. In this moment of war, these seconds of time the shadow of foe merges into one and fate is held in mind. The trigger or the knife? To feel a man as blade enters his heart can only come from hate. The trigger is easier the civilised way This conscience that looks on helpless foe expected to kill, just one bloody more, feels the cross of servants war that Kaiser bids by heaven and crown to give reapers charge his due. For crown has right to heaven’s door and empire would deny me this. Yet my hand it does tremble to see the eyes of England. This soul of man with broken colours for he is the wretch of me, and though we speak in mother’s words, I hear only the voice of a common man. For language can merge this pain and our blood will always pour both ways. And in this moment, these seconds of war. My German heart strokes sorrow on comrade beast, a reminder of edelweiss days of mountain silence and the purity of home and a tear unites, what has been lost. Hate and foe are gone this day, replaced by Bucephalus blood For here lies a noble beast. Bucephalus blood has touched the hearts of men this moment of war is betrayed The soul of a soldier can walk away and dignity is mine this day. And as I return to comrades trench This moment of life is all I have. The clock of war demands the kill, And this reservoir of blood is deep for men are but sheep bleating before the gun. And bitter is the taste of Bucephalus blood I will not shoot at you? To waste this nature, this flower of time Taken from the valley of life To be spilled by blind invention My grave will carry not your cross For Man is not worthy of gallant charge His mind is drowned in tomorrow’s corpse and killing is all that is planned For Peace lies hidden in common man, banished to a mountain of hope which war refuses to climb? And the rope has taken the drop For the many who have tried. This war will ride on Bucephalus back, his spirit will die alone and Alexander will weep among the gods as brothers fall in Flanders field, killed by the widows rant and anointed with Bucephalus blood.