Honor
By Ian Stevens
Marching
to battle with fear in their eyes,
noble
men are fighting in love with their countries.
Seconds
till death with black thundering skies;
their
honor shall last for centuries.
Sweating,
shaking in the blood tainted armor,
the
reaper shows up to collect his toll;
soon
a yell is heard, then more and more.
They
rush into battle, into the mouth of hell.
Swords
clashing, screams piercing, and death surrounds,
those
men must kill to protect the young ones back home.
A
cold, chilling wind rushes through the battleground;
now
silent, for they are sleeping so cold, dark, alone...
Piles
and piles of blood and death;
even
the clouds of shadow start to cry.
Raindrop
by raindrop, no sounds of breath,
and
families upon families are going to die.
Unfortunately
when the news is brought back,
tears
will fall like the rain.
“Tat,
tat” on those bodies life lack;
the
soul left behind and drained.
Those
honorable men who fought for life
quietly
laying in morbid, chilled peace;
drenched
in blood and tears of those who thrive,
death
reaped and sowed those men who's lives now cease.
Days,
months, even years pass on by,
but
tears remain and exist streaming endlessly;
warriors'
families keep on asking, “Why, oh why?”
though
surrounded by joy, life goes on gloomily.
Remember
though those men suffered horribly and unfair,
let
hope guide them to an afterlife of prosperity.
Their
souls live in heaven, no more war or bloody lair;
they
now look down upon us guiding our life, giving clarity.
So
no matter what, do not ever forget those noble men
who
fought for us to live in a life with a joyous, spiritual core;
their
spirits thrive, actions remembered, and carry no sin,
forever
will they have true, untainted honor.