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scene iii blood for blood
to wield a blade on a field of bodies, a soldier to be made who was once a nobody.
he holds a blade, heavy it weighs in his soft hands, he stands unafraid of the ungodly things that have been thrusted into his hands.
innocence gone from every fibre, aware of the horrors that awaits him, kindled with unchaste desire to settle everything presented to him.
the duty of war, armies of children, in the name of valour to sacrifice a million.
he holds a blade tainted by the blood of others; is this his last serenade? how many numbers?
the gods rages, bodies are burned; he quivers holding the urns.
the night is young feet buried deep in the sand, the metallic taste on his parched tongue, the red shallow tide waves that courses onto the land.
the dawning thought of victory, a celebration had to be called for the lives that had been given to history, a daunting war to be remembered; a need to be memorialised, to those who had been dismembered their lives needed to be immortalised.
the blade weighs heavy in his grasp a mind sinking into despair, a sarcastic gasp, to take it all back is what he desires, a life of happy smiles and clean hands, safe from the lies he used to understand.
the water is cold to touch he sinks further he is unable to do much; so he says, good bye, mother.
THE HORRORS OF WAR
author's note. numero three in 'wtf is going on in my mind'. but honestly i wanted to set this poem in a gladiatorial setting thing where two fighters fight to death but then this happened....also i tried the abab rhyme and well it's harder than it seems zzz
