Reapers?

Kings with the sound of disappoinment in loss,
Are sharpening ideas. I see them place swords
In their belts as a thing that's done.
And start their quiet killing, one by one.
War carriages drive a sound through the woods,
And there, a soldier, aching, screaming dies,
His hands close to his face. I see the sword,
Blood-stained, continue slashing men and boys.

As it turned out, I was utterly mistaken in my interpretation of this poem as it went like this;

Black reapers with the sound of steel on stones
Are sharpening scythes. I see them place the hones
In their hip-pockets as a thing that's done,
And start their silent swinging, one by one.
Black horses drive a mower through the weeds,
And there, a field rat, startled, squealing bleeds,
His belly close to ground. I see the blade,
Blood-stained, continue cutting weeds and shade.

-Jean TOOMER