IconElegies

May God have mercy on my enemies, not me. I was a poet of war. War was everything. I would have liked to die in battle, as a soldier should. Instead I died in bed, paralyzed, a mockery of a soldier. Fortunately, I was buried with my soldiers. My battlefields were familiar to me, I had fought on them before, when as a Roman legionnaire, as a Napoleonic warrior. My destiny is to be reborn, as a warrior. Poet's note. Panzer General Patton believed he had already been a soldier in the Roman Empire.

They called him the white death. He himself did not establish a name. He remained silent and quiet, just as when he was lying in wait for his next kill. Patiently, from darkness to darkness. He shot unexpectedly, the best sniper in the world, from far only a roar could be heard, silence descended on the light, again the life of one enemy ended, which flowed reddish into the white snow. Like a beast for its victim, he again lurked, one with nature, the world's most famous messenger of death, Simo Häyhä, and they called him the white death.