I have never understood

how they could
stand in the wistful daylight,
their heartbreaking young faces
overflowing with courage and strength,
their eyes filled with longing
for glorious annihilation,
and tie the sacred scarf
around their heads,
climb into
the flying funeral urns
and hurl themselves
at the other brave young men
in the hopes of reversing
the foregone verdict.
If there really were a hell
its deepest and cruelest recesses
would be filled with all those
who have convinced
the young men
of a thousand eras
that their greatest task
was not to grow into
honorable old age,
but rather that the
zenith of nobility
was for them to throw their
shredded, severed guts
into the endless river
of squandered human
tomorrows
for the sake of battles
that no amount of
priceless young lives
could ever be
worth.