Thousands march under scorched desert sky,
The Kuwaiti oil fires igniting the dark overcast of harsh chemical-smelling smoke
Thousands of men under objective destroy and dominate
Their minds blank with conditioning, they carry out their orders
without fail
These men of ductile plastic bleed for oil and wealth.
Their soft polymer heated and formed into an unthinking, obedient, instrument of destruction
Placed anywhere and everywhere
at the will of the corporate god.
Their stiff boots march wherever the money is,serving the greedy and invisible
they huff their heroic propaganda
to upkeep the denial of impending doom.
But these molded plastic play pieces can only pray to die in battle,
For there is no world for them beyond the game, only the promise of a landfill 
these toy soldiers void of the environment they were so expertly molded for are deemed useless
their makers toss the spent plastic aside once it’s served its purpose.
In their confusion the toy soldiers wallow beneath the blood soaked sofa cushion of society. 
 Forgotten by those they fought for and the makers who cared so much to craft them so