Some nights are never-ending hells
for these old veterans in our care.
We do not hand out pills, but shells,
as out of battlefields they stare
from over sixty years ago
on far-off Guam or Guadalcanal.
With trembling hands they try to show
how the bravest or youngest fell.
We console them with a cold cup,
and a tender tap on the shoulder.
What haunts them, though, will not give up,
nor the fallen boys grow older.
Every Phoenix Needs Its Ashes
Quotations From Chairman Rabble Kenneth Roberts: A Patriotic Curmudgeon
He’s Back! Hitler does Friday the 13th
Go in Fear of Abstractions
America’s Morass in the Middle East
Will Civilization Collapse?
Warhammer’s Imperium vs. Chaos & Nationalists vs. the Cabal
Anglis Anglia, or England for the English