The Soldier
Here he comes, our brass button shining hero
Clean shaven, well suited, the tunic is well
Fitted. We wanted one, long ere Ground Zero
Brought us under the numb, horror and spell
Somewhere in the ethic of our paucity, this
Cold Hector, like a blanket of security, was
Ordained. Yet something in the awe remiss
This gore and glamour around which we buzz
Contradicts our contradicting moral and laws
That scorn the brutal handed vile and flaws
Of men that plunder, murder and then cause
The trembling finger upon the beads to pause.
Our backs upon the street to him then turn
Ignoring his private demons now to urn
Us all and then forget, what we made of him.
For after the ceremonies I spoke with him
Sitting down in a silent corner, very dim
He confessed that in mind, soul, ay, and limb
Something sinister kept crawling within
Something darker than mere knowledge of sin.
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