Shimmering through the haze of heat
bent hyphens circle far away
as they mark their swollen treat.
I change course toward them at mid-day.

Two miles through this desert land
like a wall I hit the stench of battle
just as the vultures start to land
and death beetles begin to prattle.

Burnt machines of modern war
with different symbols on their side.
Is that all this fight was for?
Far above crows call and glide.

I can put it off no longer
so I let my gaze skim the soft parts
then when the hot breeze becomes stronger
I study this, one of man's oldest arts.

All these shells with staring eyes
empty of humanity
looking at life's end with dull surprise.
It seems a few glare straight at me.

My shovel swings off of my shoulder
and bites into the red stained soil.
With each scoop I feel much older
yet I continue with my toil.

All around spades sing in sand
as my fellows prepare deep resting places.
This battle field, this ruined ground
will soon hide torn bodies and pale slack faces.