A war is not a wholesome story.
It contains neither hope nor glory.
~
A blood moon rose on our final night,
it foretold of a dark and bloody fight.
We officers had no faith in tomorrow,
only words for those lost in sorrow.
~
My men were too brave to turn back,
even knowing they’d die in the attack.
They would give their all and more,
and dare knock upon death’s door.
~
The day was hot; the wind still,
enemy archers made the first kill.
Swords and shields were held high,
and we charged in unafraid to die.
~
The battle raged to their city’s gate
Fear was in their eyes, in ours, hate
Soon, the walls fell, and in we came,
stalking and hunting men like game.
~
Their wills broke; their heads cracked.
Children hid as their city was sacked.
The dead fed the vultures a fine feast.
The only mercy was being deceased.
~
Spineless royal guards ran in defeat,
while noblewomen begged at our feet.
The bitches we passed out to our men.
The virgins we kept for a darker sin.
~
In victory, we honored the God of War.
Sadly, I heard Him cry, “Give me more!”
Such is our fate to wage war yet again,
for in war stories, men will never win.
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