by David Davis Clayton

A horrid mockery of
wretched assertiveness
Subdued beneath a lumpy
          green canopy.
A canopy thick enough to mufle the
   bloodied
cries of fallen patriots;
   Lured innocents.

   Unacquainted still with the craftiness of
                    death
the seductiveness of gutting out the warm
          flesh,
Hearing the sweet screams of your
                            enemies,
     Smelling the thick blood...

Their spleens still pumping the vain bile
                                      of insurrection

          This is war.