Flesh and blood.
Expendable tools and nothing more.
Living weapons whose purpose is to
Mechanically follow orders,
Even if it costs them their wretched lives.
Finite, they march on,
Unaware (or uncaring?) of the fate that awaits them.
--
Flesh and blood,
Both spilled on the battle field.
Moans of pain suffocate as the damned soldiers curse their gods.
The soil complains of the taste of blood.
Entrails lie stinking in the heat of the midday sun,
As flies gather to feast.
--
Flesh and blood
The families of the lost
Weep bitterly when they realize he is not coming home.
Unapologetic apathy,
Striking a hard blow to their hearts,
Surrounds them and looks down on them with irritated heartlessness.
--
Flesh and blood,
They are no longer.
They spitefully shake their ghostly fists at God.
The flames and fire that raze them eternally
Do not scorch and burn as much as the forever chilling ice
That rips their skin from their bones time and time again.
--
“Why must we be punished for doing as we were told,”
They scream. “Why did we have to pay with our
Flesh and blood?”
--
The worms and flies whisper in delight,
“How delicious are these fools’
Flesh and blood!”
--
The wives and children cry,
“Who has taken from us our own
Flesh and blood?”
--
The precious materials that allow our hearts to beat they gave,
But at what cost?
No one cares for the poor fools who died,
For they were merely
Flesh and blood,
Expendable tools and nothing more.
Adding your comment:
Anyway, just something I thought I would throw out there, since it seems you might be undecided for that line. 
