Omer Tarin

 Weary, hysterical marches all their eyes clouded over, they trudged in long,  wavering ranks;  From one corner of that  broken land to the remotest, forsaken reaches  This was a hate-filled place for them, they knew it,  But their lords had drilled it into them, drilled to understand  that every sovereign inch must be held on to, must be savaged with maniac force, no matter how many (here and there) bit  the dust;  What were they, then ?  Only nothing, only there to die  in their plenitude  and to kill likewise, endlessly. Sad, that it was all for a map, and  a soiled piece of paper  writ then, and again and again, in the warm and flowing stream  of human blood . 

 I Like a white falcon I flew Wings stretched out in joy Ascending higher and higher still ,  as they all saw me abased II Stones ricocheted and rebounded from my lowered forehead  and a steady drip of love lifted my undefeated heart  III By the Fount Eternal I staunched my wounds, those waters emerging out of the endless deep, shining as it flowed, transforming me all