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 called begging more.

In forest deep, God has no ear
Bloody blades slay sans fear;
Mother holds her child dear
No dead names remembered here.

In night's river, bodies swell
When asked why, none will tell;
In sunlight 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 accustomed throne
Desperate yet 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 blind night;
Dreamless men struggling fright
Running from Love's piercing sight.

No written parchment of this day
Blood downstream slips away;
Wrestling devils fuel the fray
Till end of time be it this way


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