Wilderness

Wilderness

Tilting brims of hats—

For so called service

Indiscriminate dust—

Scattered where there is light

Blackwood limbs frayed—

Under the bloodied skies

Shadows of men—

Stained on thirsty fields

Screaming and thrashing—

His rifle still smoking

As a father cradles his son—

Who soon walks—

Who soon talks—

Who soon slaughters—

At Wilderness at dawn