The Siege

its walls rose higher

than any mortal could climb;

torches watched upon the hill

from every corner of every stone,

their shadows dancing

in the fields coloured bright;

not with blossoms of early spring,

but with tents of brooding men;

winter had left the land

with a touch of death;

but death was not all that lived

on the day of the siege;

a hatred so repulsive

it relished in bloodshed,

in the carnage of men,

justified by the lust for power;

spears shattered against shields

as arrows pierced flesh;

the drowning man cried out

in his sea of corpses;

the earth turned red

like a river from hell;

the night revealed

mankind's true nature;

on the day after the siege

its walls rose high;

torches smoked quietly

from atop the hill,

like a black tail drifting over

the fields coloured bright;

with blossoms of early spring

amidst the remains of men;

Reviews

[MomzillaNC]

What a dark testament to the blackest nature in mankind. A gripping tale… very well penned.

I often wonder what must be the perspective of those who aren't victorious, who don't live to tell the tale, to set down their history. My poem, "Ra'qedyet" was inspired by that same pondering. We only have the tale told by the victors, who aren't likely to paint themselves in a murderous light.