There will never be armies of genetically enhanced super-clones. Who needs expensive clones to fight their wars? There will always be plenty of cannon-fodder, born every single day, in the ordinary way.

A Leaf
descends
in Lazy arcs
to mingle with the scattered multitude of kindred souls.

Once again, Time Victorious
passes a hand before the shifting mirrored image

Drums of Purpose stir blood fires
Battle's promised glory sings
a siren song
Immortality of Poet's Praise and Minstrel's ballad

Rumbling
the once distant Dragons
close
belching death
and hellfire
tearing
twisting all they touch
in crimson mist
and darkness

Within golden rolling waves of wheat
The Harvester's Scythe glints in easy arcs
Leaving the slender stalk to lay

silent

© David M. Pierce 1979