Silent Cries of The Fallen

The footsteps of a soldier departed from battle

He walks with dry lips, parched tongue, a few sips

All alone, with just the memory of a long way away kiss.

He drags his feet, his soles are worn, his weapon is sheathed, his soul is torn.

His tower rises from the ground, out of ashes.

His nose flickers with the smell of burning corpses.

He climbs stairs, ladders, higher and higher,

Reach the summit just to plummet back down to body filled pit.

He stands solo atop the structure, he kneels down at the sight of the oncoming figure

Imposing, up holding, with sword and shield, leaving behind the blood soaked field.

The Sun begins to set, the battle is reset, the tale begins again, the soldier stands with his friend.

Once a hero and now no more, a myth, a thing of legend and folklore.

With eyes greyed out, and shadow still, stone hands, and a heart once silk

Shredded, the point of no return, the stars shine, the night arrives.

Red blood turned black, they embrace each other no questions asked.

They felt only fire and fury, two hearts, separated, serrated, faded, beating, gone, slowly.

War teaches a lesson, of honour, for glory, a fantastical story.

Warriors march forward and don’t look back.

The silent cries of the fallen churn the earth as the sky turns black.