PAX

The roar of cannons booming from pride’s artillery
set before the world in patriotic armories,
aimed with fervor to defend a sacred soil
as warrior’s hear their thundering sounds
to follow them through smoke and shells
on that bloodied path unto a white cross medal
worn forever as glory’s ribbon.

How those craters and corpses
never still the storms within the soul
who stir the fears over invaders
until they only calm to beset the heart
comes from raising shield and bayonet
against any dreaded, menacing plight.

In the safe havens far from those muddied fields
were bodies fall to never rise again
flags still caress in their silky windswept allure
preserved in the mind as the cherished emblem
though it can’t caress away the concerns
over those who would shred its fabric.

Ever on the soil with those claret stains
of the sacrifices unto attempts at national security
is the illusion they will gain a peace.

Yet they are always dipped in irony’s paint,
which never dries to cover the land
and silence the ghost of the slain
who linger in the minds of those still alive
to prevent the pax that was their dream.