The Survivor's Curse

Wrath Here I stand, upon This hill, this hell of gunshots, Pouring blood, whiskey, Cadavers made into walls; Unashamed generals lead Color-adorned men To untimely demises, No food, no water, But you must not leave The Cause, For you have been called to fight On the battlefield The broken-hearted, dead past A survivors’ curse. Lust Here I stand, upon Lucky men who succeeded In getting out of The Cause’s grasp. If they died Not, others would have instead. Honor the Dead. For The real reason we shoot at Strange, potential friends Is them. For them I stand here, In crossfire of friend and foe On the battlefield The broken-hearted, dead past A survivors’ curse. Sloth Here I stand, upon The cold, hard, sure motherland, Iron-tipped boots clack To attention; another Round goes off, some soldiers fall, The Cause does not see Its men pass into slumber Forever. They squirm On the doctors’ amputation Tables, their last, faithless hope On the battlefield The broken-hearted, dead past A survivors’ curse. Pride Here I stand, upon Conquered, bleeding land The stench of carcass Drifts up from the trenches dug Around an area not Ours. Yet it is ours. Men impaled for The Cause prove That we should be here. But what is The Cause? It is; Fight for Its glory, think less On the battlefield The broken-hearted, dead past A survivors’ curse. Envy Here I stand, upon The trench lookout hill, I spy Officers speaking To comrades of their color, Red. Red as blood. Red as Death. Emblem on their caps A symbol of hatred of The Cause, and all good, But I pity these poor men, Stuck in the same place as me On the battlefield The broken-hearted, dead past A survivors’ curse. Gluttony Here I stand, upon The landscape of wilderness, Polishing my gun So that when I join my friends In Death’s tender, firm embrace I will look a man. The final bottle makes its Rounds before we load And run out to meet and shoot Men who know The Cause’s truth. On the battlefield The broken-hearted, dead past A survivors’ curse. Greed Here I stand, upon The ruins of a kingdom, The Cause – what cause? Won, Masking innocents’ crying, Feeble, never to be heard By the ruthless. They Listen not to all the Dead; Too busy gulping down Alcohol to kill painful Memories of The Cause On the battlefield The broken-hearted, dead past A survivors’ curse.