her dead sons

what are you losing mother?
your sons are just fed into the rotting war!
mother! don’t you know?
they march straight on death’s eyebrow?
mother! at front line, dusk and morn, padlocked
toward the mouth
of war, fate of hell, inhumane, your sons are vainly proud!
battle-cry, as the devil roars, they shout
‘mother fuckers!’ as they dangle their heads into through,
they exchange fires, solemnly at
made enemies, all your sons, each others, mean indignantly!
yes, mother! your sons are vulgar, so disrespect, depressed
and utterly misled!
mother! do you miss your sons at the moment?
forever dead! they’re not coming back! Mother!
red, their heads turned into flames, their barren hearts changed into ash.
they have to serve!
and they serve!
burnt into uncertain future
fouled into two moulds: rebel and private soldier
placed face to face, just like gladiators
to do one thing!
medalled or just worthless toy soldiers
mother! your sons are just desperate thieves and ragged beggars
honorarium, they earn grievance
they pay for clothe and food with that
mother! you know best
if the war hasn’t claimed them yet,
dyslexia - dark fluke, the starry life to them
floundering in this graceless game
mother! don’t, just don’t remember your sons and cry again!
raiders, rapists and murderers...,
mother! don't try, just don’t try restore these heavily armed villains,
your sons have changed! no longer who you gave birth to!
never reclaim who you raised into!
now they’re
dangerous, they respire command,
scandalous, they delight in fear and sweat,
living as marching bodies thwarting the leisure of death!