A man kneels over another man’s body
two fingers on the other’s pulse
while two right hand fingers point heavenward;
This chaplain in proud officer’s epaulettes
checks for signs of life, yet gestures above.
What choice downed youth, if choice you ever had?
Sprawled on ravaged earth, head flopped aside,
mouth agape, arm flung from dropped rifle,
your blood red-staining the surrounding soil,
soil where flowers might bloom for your bride,
blooms fed not only by blood but rusting weaponry,
your requiem the sound of relentless shellfire,
your grave a hastily dug unceremonious ditch.
What old men safe from the killing fields,
deserving hellfire, sent these innocents here?
This too obedient soldier, this deluded priest.
Which war of endless wars is this a photo?
Who the cameraman standing by recorded the scene?
Consumption for a sentimental home-front,
collectively immune, waiting only a victory parade.
Silenced sons betrayed, not raised to falsely promised heaven,
only by weary Earth received, who in Her faithful seasons
raises blood red blooms, Her gentle retribution
garlands for thousands more hopeful brides
whose resurrected sons, in turn soldiers, priests
Pray : Oh Holy Mother Earth save us all from sin
That no man need kneel by fallen comrade
nor bride forsaken weep in field of bloody flowers.
~ Valeska Cotter
