Darkest Days

To the Victor Goes the Spoils

To the victor goes the spoils against his better wishes
He fought mercilessly but only begged for it to stop
Ignored and drowned out by the stampeding crowd
He raised his sword once more versus opponent's top.

Straining gritty eyes under a sultry, beating sun,
"Beggars cannot be choosers"; isn't that the phrase?
As he whipped his weapon across his rival's chest,
He watched blade cut skin and gore warranted appraise.

Down his victim falls and stills contrary to the roar of the masses
His aghast expression plain in the reflection of the shield that failed
Suddenly and yet in slow motion, the blade cascades to the ground.
A battle had been won, but yet a soul is tragically exhaled.

What has been triumphed is ungratefully null and void
For the blood of a brother is on the hands of death himself,
And he sobs into the dented armor that broke away as easy
As a life fades and ultimately proves itself.

So then now what of the spoils has been conquered
What from it has been gained and sought after?
Does the virtue of man outweigh that of riches?
Is he who slays, a murderer thereafter?