War Is Madness

Swords and spears drawn,
Weapons at the ready.
Bows are drawn back,
Arrows held steady.

One holds home,
And One charges through.
Sides are opposite;
They know what to do.

No one would ever kill before,
But here they slash without remorse.
Instead of terrifying,
Blood becomes adrenaline,
Coming from some unknown source.
And with each impact
Of bodies against the ground,
They feel no pain,
No sympathy to be found.
With each one slain,
They feel pride,
Without guilt.
Things they would never do,
Are done as if it were some
sick, twisted dream.
But pinches open no eyes,
Only pain that jerks them
further awake.
They still have to fight,
Fight for a blind sake.