War Poem

A Poem by Sebastian

As war breaks out, an observer takes an account everything he witnesses.

A peddler on the street
Sold human hearts with his feet.
He understood each worth and price,
Selling far beyond his reach.
He valued each one,
Knew what each one had lost,
And with every bruise and scar,
they went up higher in cost.
Shrouded he was
Always selling in grim night,
Like his supplier of hearts,
Who was never seen in the light.
They were ammunition,
Fuel,
Food for an alliance at enmity;
The ultimate duel.
The hearts were black market,
The darkest of exchanges,
Stolen from a people
Starving on their shallow wages.
The hearts had been transferred;
It was a painful,
Bloody,
Gruesome affair.
Cries of original possessors
Seeped through the grim, night air.
The soulless and callous bodies,
The ones robbed of vitality,
Were heard crying to the sky,
"I did not know it was there!"
The peddler sold fast,
His clients even more swiftly.
The master of these dark deals Watched; his hand o'er the city.
Not all were robbed, though;
Some hearts remained in tact.
The remnant became soldiers,
Protectors of intimacy,
Waiting for the opportune attack.
But, for that time they held their ground
And,
through struggle,
pulled the heartless back.
This business would go on. Days,
Years
And Decades.

The heartless have said,
"What good is this heart for?"
And thus became the cause.
The very reason for the war.