Charles J. Ingerson


Raking the ranks
sordid sounds alike
ringing massive tanks
fearsomely to psych.

Bodies bending in pain
snapping and popping
as hail in heavy rain
all time found stopping.

Withering fire of stakes
sparks reflecting high
mystical image awakes
where eagles won’t fly.

Withering fire of time
burning into the soul
finding trees to climb
exacting an eternal toll.

Now the fire decreases
smoldering charred remains
putrid smell releases
the landscape it stains.

Raking the ranks
at first seen orderly
soon just log banks
burning all totally.

Sordid sounds alike
deafening and silent
where cannons strike
massing graves virulent.

Ringing massive tanks
rusted and corrupted
firing only now blanks
withering fire disrupted.

Fearsomely to psych
our minds images oft
presenting all we dislike
fading into a night soft.