We march, though in truth it is mockery to call it so
For there is no time, no rhythm, only the seemingly endless drone
Of a thousand pairs of boots upon the road
Of a thousand swords and shields scraping and clanging
Against a thousand other pieces of armor.
Cacophony
I have long lost count of the miles behind
The new and strange scenery ceases to amaze
My thoughts drift briefly to home, but even home
seems unreal. Another life lived by another man.
There is only the heat, the endless miles
The dust on my tongue, and the noise
I remember faintly, the way it felt when I
of my own free will enlisted. The Pride. The Joy
Here! Here was my destiny! To defend my country!
I told them, my friends, my family, all who would hear it
“I shall return with my shield or upon, look for me!”
My shield is nothing more than a weight upon my back
My Armor and sword, another daily chore.
For they must be cleaned , polished, and sharpened
For a battle that never comes.
Where is my Glory?
