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.