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Rated: 13+ · Poetry · War · #931427
An after-battle scene as imagined by me.
The battlefields

Tattered armour, slain bodies;
Hands fallen, still at-arms.
Lifeless eyes, still open;
Begging for life-priceless alms.

I think I saw him move,
A soldier on the verge of death;
Still pride in his eyes,
Still loyalty in his breath.

I closed my eyes,
I cursed that earth,
Which slayed the angels,
And to devils gave birth.

To these fateful grounds,
Many a knights will bow;
Where I once was slain,
A battle or two ago.
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