DEATH Poem: Byzantine, by Vince Soldano

14,000 soldiers
March through the city gate,
even though
25,000
had left over
10 months ago.

The cries of the people,
happy for their safe return
can be heard all over the city.
Generals on horseback and in chariots,
banners and treasures shown in military display.

The king and the bishop
await the parade in the city’s center.
A blessing and thanks are to be given,
to those who made a return home.

Soldiers,
boys in their teens as well as the men,
limping,
bloody and wounded,
trudging through the streets.
relieved to be home.

The horrors they witnessed,
the gore and the bloodshed.
They watched as their
friends, brothers, fathers, uncles
got slaughtered in front of them.
For what reason?

To gain another region
in the name of their
King.
The lives sacrificed,
they hope were not in vain.
Their wartime sorrows
for they left the dead behind.
Gone but definitely not
forgotten.

The images from the battlefield,
engraved in their memories.
The cries of the dying,
both their own countrymen and the enemy.
The sounds resonating in their ears.

What was it all truly for?
Why must their king be so greedy?
Why was the king so willing
to sacrifice the lives of his people?
Why did the young men have to die?
Why did anyone have to die?

The king rejoices in their victory,
not knowing the true price that was paid.
The bishop says it was God
that helped them win,
yet the soldiers say
God had nothing
to do with it.
The generals bask in the glory.
High on top horses, they take
full credit for the
triumph.

The parade ends.
The festivities begin
feasts and parties throughout
the city. Women dancing
in the streets.
Whores fast at work,
the tired men happy for attention.
Bonfires light up
almost every corner.
The sweet sound
of music is heard
all around the city.

The people rejoice,
not knowing
the pain and
the horrors
that occurred.
The king’s banquet,
alive and elaborate,
flaunting
“his”
victory.
He hosts all of
his council and the
top generals,
none of whom know
the lives that were lost.
They only toast to
triumph of the
army.

The people celebrate
for the war is over.
The men are back home
with their families.
Yet, still in their minds
are those who did not
return.

Over 25,000 left,
but only 14,000
made the journey home.
Here’s to the men who lost their lives:
the 11,000 souls.