The day had just begun
even before the first song was sung.
We marched so high and dry.
It seemed as if we were to fly.
The sun beat down upon us-as if to slay our fears;
the song of victory played in our ears.
Trumpeting along the winding way,
we soon arrived to face the day.
Our enemy stood resolute,
and we, as one, seemed deaf and mute.
The awe was truly powerful-overcome with realization,
this could, in fact, be absolution.
That death could come, no one could say.
However, nothing was certain-for us that day.
Eventually the charge began.
Stumbling along with the flock I ran.
I found no solace, no matter where i scanned.
The lines collided; men screamed and died.
I couldn’t focus-no matter how hard I tried.
I stuck my sword into a limb, not knowing where that limb had been.
The blood soon rushed into my eyes.
Again, I tried just not to cry.
The fear was becoming much too real; I just wished I could make a deal.
A deal with whom I can’t escape,
no matter if I guess my fate.
Soon, a quell began to spread.
We were left to pick our dead.
The blood dripped onto the ground.
It occurred to me, the Earth might drown.
A group of birds began to form; I though the murder foretold a storm.
The wings, as black as death, soon lifted up and made a crest.
Away they flew, and soon began, something for which we had too few.
We heard a cry rise from our flank.
The enemy soon climbed the bank.
I knew we would not hold till morn,
I knew that hope was long forlorn.
The cries soon rose up again,
Men falling, and dying, and crying, and then-
A sword, so very sharp and fierce,
plunged through my body which was so pierced.
I began to fall towards the ground.
Nothing was heard, not my body or its pound-
against the dirt and mud which lay
as warm and comforting as it was any day.
I could tell no one had heard.
They still-had not-quite seen the birds.
In hundreds they gathered ready to pounce;
all they wanted was just one ounce.
One ounce of flesh from each ripe corpse-
I knew that soon they would seize the course.
Soon my eyes began to blacken. Just like the birds, whose wings were flappen’.
Flapping around me and the rest,
the soldiers all now brought to nest.
The birds began to set to work.
Their wings, always, it seemed to lurch.
Wings which Death himself had used
to help make use of his high up perch.
Soon, all began to turn to black.
I knew that there was no turning back.
I knew the wings would soon seize me,
And, yes, soon it was to be.
The last things which I was to view,
were the wings of death, who,
seeing me damned,
dragged me up into Death’s hand.