This poem was originally published on 31 July 2016.
The torches burned in quick succession. I saw the black wood smoke ascend, And I thumbed this self-made armour, Musing on where it would bend. It seemed as if the sky had fallen. Stars lay scattered across the valley, The moon peeked from behind a dark curtain, White with agony. I watched no man’s land fill up with beasts. An invisible finger stirred my blood, As cold steel was thought unwavering, And words were discarded as duds. There were cubs manning all the foxholes. And all the heavenly were damned, As were the purple-robed dyed in red, War does not grace any man.