Pause

©Jeff Franks — September, 27 1995

Pause the solemn drum
beating heavy and laboring
a rhythmic continuum
one ending preceded by another

it times the step of ten thousand men
and soon ten thousand more
synchronizing the swing of strong young capable arms
grasping the instruments of death
tightly in gentle unstained hands

Count the cadence in reverse and
sing not the marching song
return the bright wide innocent eyes
whole bodies to the Ready Line
remove the Battle Streamers—before the blood
case the proud Colors—before
they flutter in an ill wind

Unbuckle the LCE and
unsnap the chin straps
erase the overlays and un-mark the maps
unpin the medals
let there be no disguises
do not let cowardice mock courage
unbind honor from duty and
set volition free
unlearn the art of war

Give the boys back their hair and
send them home

Moist mother’s eyes close
to wish it all away
clear consciences implore their young
sit down
their old
stand up

Men are less than simple
when intents are inexact
emotions turn a tempest
not calmed
even by the facts
a nation speaks with one voice
when the silent refuse to speak
gray hair is not a crown of wisdom
unless collectively arguing for a reprieve

Again, glorious nostalgia
permeates the conversations
warriors once
they send their sons
to fight once more
the never ending war
the never ending cycle
the devil's answer to the passion play
taking solace
from the sacrifice of their blood’s blood
leaving the naïve to walk face first
into machine guns — and lay broken
wishing back appendages and
begging for the painless sting of death

the solemn beating thunders
the drum refuses to be paused
one ending preceded by another