Diary of a Soldier

At night, bracketed by gory sights of bleeding fleshes Of unfortunate brothers succumbed to stammering calling of shells, We staggered on and offered neither flowers nor wishes Dangling in heavy grief and in Lucifer’s hell, Dodging glimmers of lights and hugging darkened woods Authority of life in our hands and glory of blood in our eyes Tomorrow, our breathless brothers shall kiss the national hood To final-salute the leaders before the woeful skies Shrouded by proud yards of our national color A plural glory for a thousand nights under the shells. I, too may join the queue before dawn or more As we embrace hell after hell For Brian Strand's contest