A Soldier's Song by Marie Lynam Fitzpatrick (photoshop)
I do not sing of brave soldiers
who soldier weary on.
Leaves hurtle through the air
like fleeing birds over straining guns,
marching boots.
These soldiers soldier on
to other soldiers soldiering on to them.
But I do not sing of soldiers.
I sing into the hurricane
between them.
Into the mouth they march
leaving all behind, lovers,
mothers, dreaming children.
Into the hurricane
wide eyed they go,
between dumping each moment
and the hope of the next:
a still beat
the clarity of being.
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