A Good Man Goes to War

How soft the scarlet petals fall

upon the pale and ashen ground

a shock of red against steel gray

a bit of green naivete’

…we watch the tin men falling down.

Crimson stains on barren earth,

shattered limbs and splintered bone…

only trunks where once life stood;

screams inscribed in human blood,

forgotten names now etched in stone.

On fallow ground the seeds are sown,

on vermins’ back  discourse is spread,

in ignorance disease is grown…

At what price for a name renown

or victory tallied by the dead?

Underneath a pewter sky

still echoing  from engine’s drone,

deep sanguine petals gather ‘round

the young man lying on the ground…

he closes eyes and journeys home.

©  Ginny Brannan 2014

Image courtesy Tess Kincaid/Magpie Tales