The Days of War
The Sun sets over a barren land; chill winds blow across the desert floor,
Fierce battles rage through the days; an eerie silence fills the nights,
Surviving soldiers return to camp; weary of body and tortured within,
The blood lust subsided; the need to prepare for the next morn,
Weapons must be sharpened; bodies must be rested,
For with the rise of another new dawn; a call to arms will surely sound.
Back in the day; there were no machines of war,
A life was taken; by the plunge of a blade,
A soldier’s arm plunged the blade; taking a brother’s life in vain,
A soldier’s arm tired with fatigue; with each thrust, his heart withers,
As he watched life’s blood flow; on parched soil of another’s shore,
Sun baked soil drenched in blood; the coyotes feast well each night.
Sitting alone after a meagre meal; the grey wolf laying at my feet,
Reflecting on my loved one and offspring; I sharpen my blade,
With the wolf in tow, I yearn for home; of loved ones who patiently await,
The young yearn to play wild and free; my love’s wish to lie by the hearth,
To return to what I cherish; the price I pay is the life of a brother,
A wife to not widow or children orphaned; the price I pay, carry the burden.
For the ideal of someone else’s dream; innocent lives are laid to waste,
If the warlords fought their own battles; many a Soul will still walk free,
But this has never been the way; soldiers were always the pawns of play,
Innocent lives sacrificed so young; lost Souls wander in the dark,
The Generals sing songs of glory; hands unstained from blood of the fallen,
While soldiers rebuild; their simple lives up heaved.