from these men on board
telling their tale with spite
from the back of their heads
as I skim past the paintings of men in armor suits
It's tilted helmet and it's mud-filled shoes
laying close
side by side
The shimmering light has not returned
These men clamant to go home
to the arms they will never return
Their red shot eyes and their laxed posture
their grieves beyond yonder now comes below their dreaded eye bags
and pools of blood outline these men
as their bodies begin to intertwine like creased paper
As the tale meets its end
the pools of blood by fear struck men align
Their blood becoming darker and colder
smells of revenge and honour
covered by the howling of other distant men
