Blood of the Fallen
Blood,
and horror.
We fought on,
consumed by anger’s fury.
Battling the enemy; blunting weapons,
‘gainst a never ending horde attacking.
As they fought, slowly winnowing our ranks,
the dead piled up before us; silent, unmoving.
They were unskilled, but sheer numbers ground us down.
They had no plan other than to overwhelm and kill.
Men:
but not.
Looking like men,
They bled like men,
but they attacked like ants.
Bathing in the blood of others,
we killed those that ran towards us.
As we grew few, inevitably, they broke through;
swarming over the still twitching bodies of fallen comrades.
So, we were forced to retreat, fighting a desperate rearguard.
Fighting
No mercy,
No quarter asked
And no quarter given.
We regrouped, they encircled us,
a tide rising around a stone.
We battled on, fighting for our lives,
hacking away with tired arms and failing hope.
Brother with sword brother; in an ever decreasing circle.
And then, abruptly, the horror of battle was finally over.
Maybe…
Battle ceased,
my deadened sword,
killing the last opponent;
I could see no more.
Silent, and standing amongst the dead,
our weapons and bodies covered in gore.
We were alive. Drained and empty, but victorious.
We sent our prayers of thanks to the heavens,
but as the skies darkened towards night, other gods answered.
Sunset,
brought terror.
Movement in shadows.
Limbs stirred, bodies moved
and silently the dead reanimated.
Lifting themselves from the bloody soil,
like puppets, they walked, staggered or crawled,
dragging their shattered bodies towards us once more.
The sun dipped below the horizon, leaving monochrome sight,
We lifted blunted weapons, and then the true horror began.
~~~
A/N – This is based on a short piece I did for a competition run by Mera2876, that will hopefully be appearing elsewhere on Wattpad soon.
This is a style I first saw while reading Chairsniffa’s epic SciFi prose which according to my learned colleague is more ancient that both of us. Greek I believe, although given my knowledge of poetry I could be ancient Gaelic for all I know…
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The Tree of Dreams
شِعرRandom poetry and the occasional drabble or dribble of other short random thought from the depths my somewhat bemused brain, or possibly Brian if the schizophrenic misspelt pseudo entity that lives up there is up to his old tricks... poems from the...
