Futility

Dark the night and cold the stars, distant pinpricks above
Breath a fog, damp in our beards and faces
As we march, as we trudge the worn road
Worn ourselves as well; bitter and tired and ready for rest
Young men grown old before our time, used to defeat and loss
Battered and cynical, we slog along, our eyes to the distance
Afraid to drop our sights to the battered and lost along the way
The empty hands and equally empty stares…….
Let the sky itself open for us, swallow the ugliness of war
Take the pain, the fear, the hopelessness……..
But still we march on, ever on, to the end of the road