@An_gelina 28 September 2021

The Dark Battlefield (Poems #8)

The Dark Battlefield Can you hear the horns blow calling for the slain hordes to rise? Out of the grey mist it hangs in the air like a dead weight, The lifeless breath of a losing flag in all these dead mens' eyes, Those still hoping they aren't the new legion of Hell try to cheat fate. The ravens taunt the crows and strip flesh from exposed bones, They're like black locusts devouring that which was home grown, The young sons of poor mother's still wailing in sorrowful tones, That their teenage boys were to be given arms and sent out alone. The tragedy is they hadn't trained nor led a life beyond their farm, This time they were the lambs being led to the inevitable slaughter, Was their any doubt at all they'd be massacred or come to harm? Blood flowed from their wounds to cover fields like running water. Will they even get buried or have the funeral that they deserve? As a lone priest in dark robes passes swinging incense on a chain, Stops by the fallen praying that their innocent souls he might preserve, But he's but one man and the demons have swept away all that remain. Ash pours from the sky as bonfires blaze with a sickly vile smell, Robbers walk the shadows checking pockets and fingers by torch glow, Rich possessions mean nothing to the dead you can obviously tell, For the Ferryman won't need to be bribed to take them where they go. With his scythe Death creeps from one last breath to the next, Slicing the throats and hopes of maimed survivors clinging on, They have no salvation as their cause was false and deeply hexed, For Black Arts had been used before ever the battle had begun. This is an ancient Dark Battleground where good souls fell, And were swept up into the Devil's service without remorse, Lashed and chained to be trained in obedience oh so well, To fight again in the coming end battle led by Four Horsemen of course.