When I talk about soldiers,
I hesitate to think, choices
and failures are as subtle
as features on a topographical map.
Skin is destiny, steel is silk,
and there are men in my dreams that wear no rank;
they haunt the corners of my consciousness,
these eyes of stoned suffering and rue.
They look to me,
and I look away.
Satirical pity smiles on swords,
or rifles, its never clear
whose flanking wounds are left
on the hands of self fulfilling prophets.
Let me come with you!
Let me be your dying star!
Let me sing the songs of cadence,
call your name into sunlit mess halls!
I'd carry your body, as broken as it may be,
anoint it with honey, almond oil,
and jasmine to remind me of your hair,
Id revel in the sweet smell of your pillow.
I cannot plead, pride does not allow,
but I will mourn; destined to hide within myself
that one single image of your smile when
I face the sadness of a folded flag.
I hesitate to think, choices
and failures are as subtle
as features on a topographical map.
Skin is destiny, steel is silk,
and there are men in my dreams that wear no rank;
they haunt the corners of my consciousness,
these eyes of stoned suffering and rue.
They look to me,
and I look away.
Satirical pity smiles on swords,
or rifles, its never clear
whose flanking wounds are left
on the hands of self fulfilling prophets.
Let me come with you!
Let me be your dying star!
Let me sing the songs of cadence,
call your name into sunlit mess halls!
I'd carry your body, as broken as it may be,
anoint it with honey, almond oil,
and jasmine to remind me of your hair,
Id revel in the sweet smell of your pillow.
I cannot plead, pride does not allow,
but I will mourn; destined to hide within myself
that one single image of your smile when
I face the sadness of a folded flag.
