Brass buckles found on a hillside

Out here at the breaking point

Where the tension snaps

and steel towers topple

Out of sight out of mind

No inconvenient views

for the vehicle of your convenience

Laboring in Lang’s sublevels

while they float away

in bubbles of artificial comfort

Their progeny consumed

with meaningless pursuits

Occupied in distraction

They do not see the hopes

that once lived in the night skies

The earth still scarred at Mort-Homme

where they delivered death

wearing God with us in brass