War's Echo
His feet squelched on the grass, Soaked with blood and cries of his comrades. His eyes welled, at the smell and his grief. His ears bled, with the eternally ringing shouts and screams. Garnished was the night sky, With the stars and souls of the dead. The sepulchral tone of the wind, A quiet assuagement to his wounds as it blew by. His hand, permanently clasped on the hilt of his sword, Finally gave up as it bluntly stabbed the earth. And as the final witness of this catastrophic diastrophe, His spirit ascended to join heaven's hearth.