Monday, October 05, 2015

In The Year Six Hundred Eighty Four


In the year six hundred eighty four
Another useless forgotten war;
No golden silver for the whore
Killing time calls begging more.

In forest deep, God has no ear
Bloody blades slay without fear;
Mother holds her child dear
No dead names remembered here.

In the river, bodies swell
When asked why, none will tell;
In nightly air, rot's stinking smell
Mankind's future passed to hell.

How cruel the innocent sun
To spare the life of not even one;
In pyrrhic victory the day is won
But in the morn does sorrow come.


Floating above the battlefield cry
Instrumented angels in the sky
Record the screams of those who die
To give voice a thousand years nigh.

King weeps on encrusted throne
Desperate he to remain unknown;
Never dare speak words his own
Illusion be the devil's bone.

Dark world shuns the shining light
Trusting deeds plotted in the night;
Dreamless men must ever fight
Running from Love's mirror fright.

No written parchment of this day
Blood downstream slips away;
No decision made to stay
Till end of time be it this way





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