Gary Jacobson


Death is not a pretty thing
Lying grotesque in battle’s field
Horrid mouth agape with hollow ring
Stiffened by dirt with blood congealed
Terror-stricken mouth locked open to sing
Primal screams voiced to past and future sealed
His vacant soul to the river Styx carried
Across which souls of the dead are ferried.

All life now suddenly petrified burlesque
Sightless eyes watching over rice paddy banks muddy
Picturesque horrors frozen in pursuits barbarous
His staring eyes abandoned in ruddy war cruddy
Posed like a fallen statue grotesque
Lies my forever bosom buddy
Gone to the hall where Odin will receive his soul slain
In Valhalla forevermore to remain.

His fragile Youth lies forever stilled
Forever lost to this ‘to be, or not to be’ war
Lost to Eos, goddess of the dawn bedeviled
Committed to serial war decreed eons before
Fervid heat boiling within him chilled
Impassioned testament to devil war
Just so much rust-stained dirty laundry jeers
His primordial dust will lay undisturbed for years.