The Marks of War

Do they ever go away

where there were bells 
  and gentle pastures 
scars of trenches run deep 
  and the mud of war is splattered, carelessly, in each feat
each battle fought, and won
  —legends
forged in agony
  a pain to last for years to come
titans sacrificed like lambs on spurrious altars
  who survives such warfare
on the cold front, where churches lie behind pockmarked doors
  and men die in droves, under crows permanently shocked 
into the air, searching for worms, in fields no more