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.