Civil Wars

A tribute to the veterens and the currently serving.

Run and hide in the farthest hollow.

O're your head dawn seems to follow.

Don't you fret my dear. It'll all

be over soon. 

In the nearest vines,

they soar through orange hangs;

feathering through seeming-less doom.

Showering metal and blocks of boom.

In the smoke between the ash,

rains a fire through the 

aftermath.

Foot prints in the fog,

the lights in the towers.

Circle you,

your family o're your flowers.

Flesh and your blood follow you 

through the dances end.

Dead and gone and passed;

the shadows descend.

Winds rage beads of sweat,

sweet rapture light makes your

final bet.