The abyss called despair

The hapless delinquent pulled the trigger, beginning a descent to the abyss called despair. If only grief were not so consuming, if death not the end, if forgiveness could be found; then hope might be seen as a shimmer on the horizon, glimpsed in the distance, kindled in our hearts.

Marching to Glory

Boots marching, marching, marching
Through two entire nights,
Marching to war,
marching to glory,
incorrectly perceived,
misunderstood.

Hopeful they arrive at the walls,
shovels digging, digging, digging,
through two entire weeks,
and the cannons are set,
aimed,
fired.

No room for flabby men here,
not food enough,
room only for disease,
entrenched in the skins of men.

In a few days it is over,
The indignant stench,
rising towards the stars,
but never getting there.

They marched to glory,
incorrectly perceived,
misunderstood.