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Flighted Death
O half-broke wing-back, wind buoyed Kite --
Thou is beautiful! Thou'st cruelly conspired:-
An all conquering indifference - yours a tyrant's ire!
Yours the mewing notes of the notched pipe...
You lent it out to give the reed high-pitched form;
And, reflected in its final, crashing flight,
Yours is the Phoenix's terrible, blazing silhouette!
Long I have marveled at some other lines...and yet,
Although awed at such perfect efficiency, upon sight
Of one particular viciousness I felt forewarned
Of a dreadful act soon to be committed; but might
Well we excuse all murderous intent, for the higher
Art of killing is not ours alone: all what we admire
In war contained in a dart; even the night
Will never have known such a terror! Then a solitary
Bird tumbling down to tear at the rotting carrion....
But not before the crackling voice pleads: "we must
Soldier on, we must soldier on, we must soldier on"..........
Copyright ©
John Fleming
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