The Sweetest War

and with a single, misfired,

Unthinking word,

The pyres are lit,

The troops are roused

And the horns are blown.

Then onto the plains, 

with standards high,

Our armies march.

The beat of our war drums

Ring out across the hills,

Vibrations tearing

Destroying the landscape.

Across those shattered fields

Our Warriors drop, 

Into the deepest,

Darkest valley,

Where the battle truly begins.

They grapple and flail,

Back and forth,

Wrestling for position;

The “one up”, the “coup de grace”!

Fiercer now 

and with unrelenting malice we continue, 

The blood of our hearts spilling,

Drenching,

Blinding our sight.

As we reach our peak,

The sky gives way, 

Crumbling apart.

Then the salt rain flows,

Our armies retreat,

Washing the blood,
Redeeming our hearts,
 

and with an embrace we fall back.