Two newborn eyes, open in the wake of night,
they catch a glimpse of a man and wife.
The light from the window, like a kiss on his cheeks,
the man there will be dead within weeks.

One eye opens, as corpses water the fields,
and ****** song rings through the hills.
The thundering hooves, the shock of the ****,
a death rattle choir, a reaping of steel.

Two eyes shut-closed amidst the pyre's smoke,
barred by the weight of minted cold.
The warmth from the flames rises through darkened streets,
lighting its way to a baby's crib.