NOW THIS DELICIOUS ARMY
They go down now like flowers mowed.
Without even the shout of a bullet whizzing,
they can be killed by distant command and
distant bombardment. Nothing awry, things
sent by automatic features. The very latest.
Death now a sponge, it sops up so many.
Neutered souls, standing around train
stations waiting. This one-man's army had
a trained gendarme to do its bidding. From the
skies or the water, they can come. Oblivious
to even a crack in the surface of land.
Old soldiers never die : they just live on in
a horror of memories and disgusting stories.