Miscellaneous Scraps

No Man Wears His Uniform

No man wears his uniform,

but still cloaked and clothed they are.

They borrow others blood for coats

and oft find themselves tear-shod.

The lies of all the officers, buttons, all shined and in a row.

draped in the ever present mud and lice and filth

shined boots and finished uniforms

were found to be fanciful deceit.

But still their feet are covered

not with shoes, but their best friends guts.

Costumed in a cloud of gas

bullet enrobed their bodies fall.

Covered in a shell of shells

torn flesh and wounds, missing limbs veil all men.

A ruined face, and mental disease a common accessory,

their countries uniforms left forgotten.

They all wear the same.

And in the mourning they all get dressed

every man shares the Regimentals of the trenches

And yet, decked as they are with all this warfare

No man marches to hell unexposed.

Because guns don’t care for this new clothing,

And to them, naked we all are.