The war of 1944

 Like a green swarm  they crawled out  of their sinking metal pods and moved slowly  over razors; towards  the sand masked pillars  Of  cracked  concrete. That, with evil  laugher From dark mouths, mocked, as they burst  forth with flame and death.  Though their bodies burst and blast apart, along  the  skewed clawed  skirt;  Their numbers held, still they clambered  towards  the fort,  And  still they slid forth: an ammunition of men. Or  perhaps  a gathering  of cowed monks on a perverted  pilgrimage;  they slowly  throttle the  enemy. The reason: a victory against a tyranny. They are unconcerned, about the broken bodies upon whom they tread;  for this is war and the future is uncertain.
          In sonic screams of resonance  the bombs fall. Then rip apart in brutal blast waves. It’s a king’s sadistic reign, from a thrown no one fully glimpses.  The explosion’s leave  behind tonged kisses, from empty mouths  and soft sighs, as their blistering light  transforms human bodies into  unknown forms, gathered up in wisps  of air; to be  removed from all their fear gilt and despair.
         The bloody noise is maddening, deafening and numbing.  It slaps humans down in this squeezed air of detonation. their bodies are mere meat, cast  down upon an altar, to their ancient invisible titan; Cronos,  who,  slowly starts  to devour them. Sucking on the marrows of the bones.  His eyes wide with pleasure, as white drooling cum spills from his full wet lips.
          Salt sea mixes with wet sand along the rough skirt.  its added with a slap of blood to the face. It hits the face and chokes the throat, as unbroken weighted bodies drown in the water gasping for air; while in  the water they  before the dark,  water spiralling bullets  puncture  and soften their softening skin. These are given by a crunch upon the  shoulder from a  whump pumped  in recoil that stings. The  kiss  from the  automatic weapons, that crack cotton fibre and then flesh hidden bones to bruise  soft arteries.  All of which reflects in the crazed eyed soldiers  who yell themselves  horse  with fears. 
         White  spittle fury, from  wounded mouths.
          While  from the cloudy, cluddy, sky above,  the  whump crash of explosions  implode bombers, that blister into  orange balls of flame , before  slamming with a deafening crescendo into  the skirt with a roar  so that all whom hear can be  closed to it.
 All populated with humans…All lost on this bloody shore.
           And was it worth it…was it worth it?  The world war of 1944?  When in the end the all victorious want is the Axis  to take the  floor?  Tell me was it worth it…was it worth it? For  in  this bloody victory  of a better  tomorrow,  a generation can now only look with  bitter sorrow,  at their the tears for their hero’s, whose lives   have been shed  for nought. Driven by less worthy money  men, who’d rather forget, that  times- ironic- arrow, as led to this:  A vile decay, on a beach today.
 With voices mute and silenced  we all watch;  as the crows circle in slow cycles, before descending, then nipping, ripping and tipping upon the flesh  of children.

©  adh 2015