"To arms", screamed he
who crowned himself
as chief in charge;
conscience-corporal to
the slain virtue in me.
To arms? TO ARMS?!

"TO ARMS" spewed he
and forth they came in
reckless droves they
pushed and passed
with fists and lies
and cut-throat eyes.

But early hope did
now subside. "To death",
I thought and mopped as
best my hands could
care at blood and guts
beyond repair.

We're locked in place
with twisting tides
that drift the lines
of wrong and right.
With curse and scream
in vain we fight.