Prelude Of Suffering

They move with quiet limp and muffled whimper
Heaving fragile bodies to safe sanctuary
Ever knowing their fortune loll in trench

Angels guide shells to soldiers
Under God’s hallowed wing
Sparing them prospect bleak
Protecting few grave trauma more
Iodine soaked saviour from divinity
Crutches sending weighty soul to bed
Injuries that save so few from
Obliteration so wide and far
Uttering no single word
Saving prayer for contemplation

Per man that loll in trench
In fear beside fortune that is
Longing to be spent in the
Ghoulish battlement of horror
Railing in their feelings of query
In their own clandestine misery
May they take a grievance there
So they can be the auspicious few

by Doc Biskind

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