Kinsmen

As the sun rises, 
So slowly in the sky, 
Casting light upon the faces of the men who had to die, 
Who fought for ideologies, 
Which may not have been their own, 
Or fought for their kinsmen, 
Who yet remain at home, 
Some fought as they were told to, 
To earn their monthly wage, 
And a few who had fought only, 
To unleash a hidden rage. 

Bolts fly back and forward, 
And casings fell at the feet, 
Of a hundred men who's purpose, 
Is to kill all those they meet, 
As a single body, 
Their purpose is the same, 
But no single body, 
Has one hundred brains, 
Each man has his own family, 
Each man has his own dreams, 
Each man marched forth aimlessly, 
To the mouths of the machines. 

Every soldier had fought valiantly, 
Not one took one step back, 
Each time one man fell, 
His oppo took the slack, 
Each soldier had a dream, 
Of what he'd be after the war, 
In cordite smoke each dream had broke, 
And lay shattered on the floor.