Rock Accountant

It is deserved that we each are noticed now when we kill.
For soldiers have sacrificed and died neglected,
For so very a long time.
It is a novel time of little murders.
No trumpets or uniforms starched.
And no bands will march and play

 No histories will recall or iron generals sculptured

for kids to climb on shooting

each other with their fingers loaded

Now there will be no end.
For every soul has become an army.
Charging up hills upon the unsuspecting

An uncharming way to kill.