All is calm, quiet.
And then a crash, a riot
Resounds off the walls.
A single clarion call
Rolls over the field.
Both sides bash shields.
They all bear arms.
All are ready to harm...
The lines meet.
The lines collapse.
No hasty retreat.
Just blood on the grass.
Who stands alone?
He holds his head.
His courage has shown.
He is not dead.
The survivors look around,
Amidst the thick haze.
Yet not one frown
Dances on a face.
These men are alive
Now isn't the time
To mourn those who bled.
They share the crime.
They share the tears shed.
Hands shake.
Voices rise.
The kings will hear
Their mournful cry.
"No war of mine
Leaves me alive!
Leaves me to find
The men who died!
Leave me alone lies
Of life after life!
See my friends cry
'Cause we are alive"
They drop their swords
And sit, battered and dazed.
The wind carries a voice
Softly speaking, he prays
That he will go home today.
They all shall sleep away
The soreness, the pain.
This is no defeat.
Nor sweet, sweet Victory.
YOU ARE READING
Song of Sorrows Past
PoetryA poetry collection focusing on several perspectives of the world around us. Scope and splendor are irrelevant in a world that begs for the peering eye upon every corner of its vast terrain. Society tends to forget that which will endure beyond any...
