This is my latest poem and it literally jumped out of me and on teh page within minutes. it was like I had to write this and I think I love it, tell me what you think.
Battles Past
The ground I see as I peer over the craggy cliff
Is covered with blood and viscera of war
With no clear winner except the blacksmith
They came in suits of mail and reflective sun
With plumes like the phoenix upon their helm
The metallic beasts slaughtered and blood run.
Giant steeds snorting fire from nostrils flared
Caused ground to quake and shudder as thunder
With dark dead eyes that their masters shared
Limbs hacked and sliced from torsos unbound
Men like rag dolls thrown and diced in the air
Body parts met each other again upon the ground
The fetid breath of the reaper as he arrived to reap
Was to overpowering to some as they fled
But only into the wrath of a waiting traitors heap
Heads like overripe melons discarded by a grocer
As he inspects the contents within to ensure ripeness
Only to find the insides rotten as he looks closer
The stench of death and blood spilled copper
Is fast on the wind as it dances around the living
Giving the air thickness and oppression improper
Then as if by gods own will the noise of battle stops
The blanket of dead an eerie non living reminder
Bellow was a field of flowers with bright yellow tops
A silence descends and the wounded put to rest
The moans of men replaced by returning birds
Their whistles from on high as they return to the nest
To the victor, another day to die is granted to thee
To regroup, love and feed before the next push
They pray to a God for the ability of his wisdom to see
But what they hear a litany of verse and begotten lies
A story told to keep them on the front lines
As a little bit of their humanity each time dies
The metal warrior cleans and is tended to by serf
Knowing one day his time will be up at last
And he can finally with honour lie upon the earth
Copyright - Graeme Hawke
