Old soldier blues.

Old soldier blues.

They are all but lost,

Reeking of boredom.

Havoc haunts the shadows

Scouring the dead

Empty spaces

Looking for life.

Standing off,

Forming ragged battle lines.

Muskets at the ready

Primed and cocked

The pride of blind obedience

To the call

Still etched into their dementia.

The forgetting of everything

Fills the air

Screams of terror

Sprung from the depth of their despair

The lucidity of dreaming

The empathy of sleep

Shattered in abreaction.

The blurring of remembrance

In daylight

Casting a pall

Over the need to stand to arms.

Demons come alive

Frothed in amber

When once was one too many.

Thick mist settles over

Steam-filled rooms

Muscle and blood

Pump iron with a sledgehammer.

Testosterone stinks

The whole place out

As bloodied old soldiers

Marching to hell

At the behest of a different drum,

Settle for little more

Than a glimpse

Of brotherhood

And a dreamless sleep.