Is it a river of Lava flowing yellow,
or a gold Serpent slithering past
slowly across Night's ebony lap?
This ember-eyed Militia marches by,
unreachable across No Man's Land,
carrying Memories, Dreams, Regrets
wrapped in the black cloth of Loss;
To die behind, dwindle, and disappear
in the claws of the chimera Chronos.

I glance Back at ghost cats in attack,
prowling predators with amber stares-
Secrets slinking forward to pounce
and drag my downed body into darkness
where Wounds reopen to wind and rain.
Forward lies a rose-petal Path to Paradise,
or a ruby-studded Road to Prosperity,
or a red charcoal Gate to Purgatory;
I know not, the Cobras spit mist in my eyes.

We drive, thrive, survive over this Road of Life
as Thor's mortar rounds sound our advance,
Wonder-claps and Brightening-bolts,
and craned lamps light the row aglow,
topaz Tranquility striped by gray Gloom.
Our Destination- some mythical Nation
over the midnight seas of silt
and through candle-lit cities of Sin
past pouring walls of Woe.