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.