The Battle

Standing on the hillside, waiting for the battle,

I watch soldiers, foe and ally, mill around like cattle.

The mists of night creep over the ground

Where soon blood will be shed among chaotic sound.

I can see the battlefield in the valley;

Can envision the slaughter of my men;

Too many, on my side and theirs, to tally

The loss of good men, brave men, those who are my friends.

But if we win this bloody vicious war,

The life, love and all we adore

Will remain free to live in the light,

Never again to fear the dark of night.

Dawn draws closer; the light of day kisses this hill.

I ready my men, tell them to aim for the kill.

“Tis them or us,” I shout. “Fight for those you love!”

And I raise my sword, fisted in my leather glove.

Men from both sides clashed, fought and died;

As I galloped through the battle, my horse ne’er shied.

Then, triumphant at the end, we gathered, exhausted and half-dead,

And cheered as we hoisted our eternal foe’s bloody head.

It shone like a beacon on our long journey home,

Carrying the bodies of our soldiers, our brothers, our friends.

Though our victory had not been certain, not been known,

I know now for certain, that this is the blessed end.