The beat of the meat

Many times this well known path
Has been trodden down by boots and bloody feet
The prints of the old and young stain this remorseless ground
Even now they walk through the furrows
They forget to where this leads
Its only ardent children who still veer and wander
Lost
As it would seem

Marching jack boots trudging through
Into death themselves as the irony speaks true
These soldiers in gloomy step
Utter bitter  nothings
Faithful minds
Enslaved in rhetoric
As though the street were ideal stage
But what lies beneath these seams
What truths are seen with undeserving age?