The Battle Cry

Rampage marching through the streets; Crunching of infestation beneath bare feet. Have you ever smelled true fear? Mellowing heartbeats, trying to persevere; Desperately quieting incorrigible tears. Perhaps somewhere on a television set, Or in a newspaper you gently fold back: You might glimpse at how terror appears, But have you seen the subtle heaves As a child grapples to breathe? Or perhaps, what his Mother perceives, While hugging a wall, hearing her husband’s pleas: Begging mercy for a crime he wouldn’t entreat, Sobbing fearfully as they hobble his feet. Screams falter to silence – left incomplete. Can you taste the ramparts of ruin? Or the echo left trailing doom? All is quieted but there’s nothing left to hold on to, None but the hope silently held tight Inside the confines of a young child’s mind. How can this not be worth the fight? Fortune has granted you selective sight, You think you’ve seen all that horror provides. And all who we are and seek to become, Is nullified and worthless in leaving the battle behind. Long before the attack on our side, Prevailed decades of horror, bodies heaped on high, Destruction peers from every eye. Mothers, in each other, seek final confide: Souls relieved, but the remains tell no lies. And here we stand in the land That sacrifice has set free, Saying the loss of one of “we”, Though freely chosen for aid to woe Is too burdensome for us to behold. So when you fall asleep tonight, Thank the layers of soil bloodied between both tides, Covered by time but still singing the battle cry, That the liberties you gladly receive Hold no stipulate to give another the relief you call “right”!