Army of Ancients
I am marching with an army of ancients,
Here we camp together and stitch
A bivouac with stories, music, and verse,
Praises for this little struggle of ours,
A collected, and regimental pat
On the back and slap in the face,
We go to bed snoring off our pains.
They are all generals and I am the only private,
They have made a plain uniform
A rare commodity and although
I am dressed in such fatigues, I am not tired,
They are much busied by fetching lice
From their moss of epaulets.
I am also the sniper, the cook, and the chaplain,
Listening and taking notes, the only aide
In this camp, sharpening all my weapons
And cleaning them out in case of war,
When I will follow the drumbeat of orders
To go rushing into the deadly hale
From some force trying to proselytize its barbarism.
In past battles I was out alone, and tossed
A stone to knock them in the middle of their eyes,
To shatter a bridge and scatter Philistines,
For victory and the laughter
Of my army of ancients to fill the air
Even as we made no real conquest,
But I have been rewarded with new stripes,
Given a promotion to private, first class.
Ben is a twenty five year old writer currently living in Arlington, Virginia. His work has appeared in Perigee Magazine, Red Fez, One Ghana One Voice, Caper Literary Journal, Quail Bell Magazine, Elimae, Super Arrow, Grey Sparrow Journal, Pear Noir, Rabbit Catastrophe Review, and Beltway Poetry Quarterly. Recently, a chapbook of mine Common Symptoms of an Enduring Chill Explained, has been published by Folded Word
Press. Ben maintains a blog at mirrorsponge.blogspot.com and is looking to publish his first novel.