...We could see in the distance hundreds of men.
their campsite illuminated, burning flesh, skin to stick.
Like scarecrows: too tired to dance
Too ashamed to look up
Taunted by their shadows
Their empty stares licked at your back
But at your parade we saw you stand tall
"Oh beautiful one" mother sheds a tear
"If only we could reach such heights"
We are dogs at your waist
"This is my love" we hear you say
"This is my strength" we catch your spit
our lips shine prepared to sing your praises
You lose your tongue at the scent of burning flesh
And your mouth was so proud of your existence
I guess you wont be coming home a martyr...