where dead bodies decorate a barren land,
Two men in silver are left to fight,
They were only told how but never told why,
They do not ask why.
Swords nourished by the blood and screams of their enemies or...long lost brothers,
But they were not trained to wonder,
They do not wonder.
The two men look for ways to snatch one's soul from the other,
One has a pregnant wife at home and the other has two daughters,
But in war, all one owns is a heavy armour,
Or at least thats what they are told,
They do not question what they are told.
The fire of speeches burns hot in their gaze,
"For my king!" one roars, "For his majesty!" the other,
A battle for glory, a fight for honor,
But their rulers remain blind to their name,
Mere numbers tallied at a table’s debate,
A truth concealed by the hands of fate,
A truth that would come a soul too late.
Oh, what pride, what hollow might,
Two men fight under false divine right,
Swords are raised, arms are thrashed,
One's heart is pierced, one's neck is slashed,
And victory falls on no one's hand.
Now the two men lie still and cold,
And the barren land grows, as it's foretold,
Feeding its soil with the blood it spills,
Preparing once more to drink its fill.
©umclite
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