Blood-tears

Proud peals of churchbells cry out death or marriage; Not, though, for youthful fighters sacrificed Knee-deep in mire where mortars scorn their passage, In soon-embracing bombblast waste of life. Blind mud-beasts feral stalk the foreign trenches And mock with sudden salvoes muttered prayers, Sent up by mournful choir that doubts its senses, Far-flung from home and hearth, entombed by cares. Crazed fanfares call these patient lambs to slaughter; Choked gas-ghosts ravish boys’ lungs in fresh Hells, Where, ears still ringing with their sweet-hearts’ laughter, Sad eyes torment with candles of farewell. Wrecked poppies now their only memory; Blood-tears of parents whom they’ll no more see. PJETËR MAMRICK via email