Upon the Wings of War


A red hawk soars over a verdant field,
Letting loose a heartbreaking scree,
Beneath- bloody weapons that foes did wield,
To the whims of some kingly decree.
The groans and screams filled the night,
After a day under scorching sun,
Of the men who fell during their fight,
Weeping- their battle now done.
What honor did they taste- what glory did they grasp?
And what lives did they waste when they gulped a final gasp?
The raptor sails on, steady and fast,
Knowing no way to change the past.

A black crow glides over a crumbling grave,
The cruel wind ripping off cap and cloak,
While in the distance, the living weep and rave,
Tears upon upturned dirt do soak.
Oh, the smell of age be sickly sweet,
And the ends for those too young,
The most dastardly for death to meet-
With stories deserted and unsung.
Who will be the next- who will answer the call?
And who by death be vexed when they eventually fall?
Vines creep up to cover the dead,
But there is no cure for what is ahead.

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