I love your willingness to volunteer
To make offerings of all that you are
Moving through your ranks, I can taste your fear
It's sweeter at close range than from afar
The field of battle is my holy church
Where you vie to be priest or sacrifice
Both give me the bounty for which I search
Most of you kill and die, feeding me twice
Famine, disease, disasters natural
All keep me occupied and well nourished
None are as sacred in terms cultural
In song and verse and prose, war has flourished
You love the slayers and honor the slain
Each of your losses is my welcome gain
About the Creator
D. J. Reddall
I write because my time is limited and my imagination is not.
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