Life, Liberty

You huddle, jeering, as the roar of shell
Erupts and mortars cleave their chasms through
Grey skies, their homes, vast sands, and men we knew.
False lightning booms and smites this desert Hell.
Your boys convulse, know fear, the putrid smell
Of rotting fam'lies, hope, and comfort too;
Their medals at the chest: the smoke-drowned view,
The burning bones, a dying land's last yell.
But still you laugh, amused by this strange sight;
And still you smile, eyes blind to screaming guns;
And still you live to praise Horace's lie.
If you were born into this barren plight
You would not howl, or smirk, while discord runs
The cold steel bullets through your throat's dry cry.