He has drifted too far into the mire

Half-sunken and rusted

Full of soldiering trills

The living sonnets of his sons

–

Half-sunk among the reeds

Among the falling vines

Where a war raged to cinders

As he carried them through the mist

–

They howled in hell’s embrace

When the ramp fell forward

No time for remorse

For the sprawled arms of regret

–

It was long ago

In his shallow grave of vipers

When he stoked his last fire  

With the stolen cries of youth