An unearthly calm has settled on the land.
The joyous sounds of the woods have ceased:
The birds do not sing, the leaves do not dance,
The air has the sense of uneasy peace.
The dust falls slowly to the earth,
The war cries of soldiers have long since stopped.
A deathly chill envelopes the field
To cover the bodies of men who've dropped.
Two-by-two, the bodies lay,
Killed in the midst of a violent attack,
And the bodies bake in the heat of the sun,
The bones dry up, splinter, and crack.
The living ones have up and left,
Leaving comrades here to rot.
There will be no heroes here,
Just the ones that time forgot.
The ground is red with the blood
Of fathers, brothers, sons, and friends,
Shed for the sake of another's rage,
A rage which forces life to end.
The bodies decay over time,
Enriching the earth with nutrients,
Resetting the land to prepare
For the next wave of battlements.
