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Soldier

Soldier

The evening is a coward studded

with stars, like a mighty man

of valor decorated after wars.

From the pits,

the survivors of maiming

Cry to him.  His eyelids

kneel under benign skies

For redemption.  The reaper

connives with gloom, and

sows some weeds inside

the lids where honest light fades.

Darkness feeds the frailty of

his bones, and his limbs,

lugging sordid rifles, drag away

Into the night, so no one sees.

There, a countless us pant to quicken our

Immortal souls.  Somewhere inside,

A door appears to usher

The willing among us, evening and all —

Soldiers, again

To the fray.

The evening is a coward studded

with stars, like a mighty man

of valor decorated after wars.

ruth mostrales, april 2009

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