Angels in the Trenches

There are angels in the trenches,
see them rise on khaki wings
from hell, these Christian soldiers,
while low, sweet chariot swings.

They stumble under crosses
weighed down with godless sins,
while a Satan sighted sniper
searches souls within the skins.

His tally, it is mounting but
he snarls more with every kill;
watching spirits find Valhalla,
makes a mockery of his skill.

Hades gates are open wide
And the welcome mat is out
but the purity of young souls
leaves the quota in some doubt.

He rages at his marksmen;
there has to be more sinners.
Stop killing babes and children
and young innocent beginners.

He knows that there is evil;
it’s absurd, how can it be?
How so, this lack of demons
in such stark iniquity?

Above the king, upon on his throne,
removes his thorny crown
while issuing new halos to
so many homeward bound

He looks down at the barren earth
and sadly doth bestow
for every soul that flounders here
I bid a flower grow

With gentle hand and saddened smile
Love speaks with some regret,
‘Though man may never ever learn,
they never will forget!’