Meat grinder

 

Generals conspire

under the dancing light

of machine gun fire.

Placing their pieces,

little green army toys.

Mowed down

twisted corpses of undead boys.

Twitching their final deathly throes,

insides exposed

to the smoky air.

Still walking. Not yet aware.

 

Is this hell?

Shell after shell.

Whistles and booms.

Strobe light in choking smoke and gloom.

Grim screams moulded on deathly faces,

stretched disjointed modelling clay.

The stench of rot and decay.

 

An honour to fight for your country.

To die in glory. To serve.

To give the enemy what they deserve.

All lies. Decimated lives.

Pulverised. Terrified eyes

The pulping grind.

Desecrated fields

where innocence marched to die.

 

Grinding and shredding.

Bodies feeding the ground

like a hungry animal

It slavishly devours.

Licking its lips

as the meat grinder overpowers.

 

Artillery burial service.

Churning the blood-soaked land,

the scorched ground.

This new hell,

where earthly shells pound

with the lies they sell.

The lies that state,

to die for your country

is a brave and noble fate.

 

 

 

Thanks for reading

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Kyle