The Poetry of World War IV - 9

The Poetry of World War IV - 9
Christopher Bogart

2.
Behold, a red horse.
His rider advances him forth,
And halts.
In a cavity
From which emits
The sounds of martial music,
And the stench of decay,
There march:
Legions upon legions
Of beings at war
With themselves, and with humanity.
Sharpened steel, clubs, pickaxes,
Cannon burst and mushroom cloud,
A hail of fire and frantic confusion,
Twisted minds and contorted bodies,
Writhe in brown fields of slow agony.
A crimson red reign
Rains down from the colorless cavity
And splatters the rider’s horse.
The cries of men, the sobbing of women,
The screaming of mangled and singed infants –
And the harsh, shrill sound of alarm
Encircle the glassy-eyed mask.