A Warrior's Tale

The enemy's army was nearing,
Their marching was getting loud.
Even the heavens seemed to spectate the rendezvous,
As the Sun peeped through the cloud.

Every soldier had anticipated this time.
As glimpses of the enemy could be seen.
Like a colony of ants over syrup
The black river flowed over the green.

And somewhere in the ranks of swordsmen,
Difficult questions, a helmet bore.
And the burden of the man's dilemma
Enslaved him from the core.

A weeping wife he had kissed,
As she tended to their newly born.
How he wished he could stay longer.
Between two loves he was torn.

His forefathers had fought for country.
Each one had valiantly died.
And he had marched on towards glory,
As his widowed mother stood and cried.

The vultures circled contemptuously
As the clouds shaped up a grim.
A terrified youth put up a brave face.
But the smell of ammonia betrayed him.

The soldier looked up at the scavenging birds
Soaring the mighty skies in their stride.
While he stood banded by destiny
Fighting for someone else's pride.

The rhythmic marching of the enemy
Relaxed his mind, so deep.
As if the last lullaby,
Before lumbering into eternal sleep.

And yet he stood thinking,
What was this fight for?
If both armies fought reluctantly,
What was the point of this war?

What was the point of this land,
Got by tearing flesh through weapon?
By spilling the blood of kinsmen,
Upon this sacred valley of heaven?

His heart started thumping faster.
As the first shots of cannon rang.
The rain of arrows blocked the heaven's view,
As the bow's symphony twanged.

The irony of the war stupefied him.
The kings convinced everyone with ease.
That this killing was justified.
This killing would bring peace.

As the first line of defence collapsed.
His sword, heavy as lead.
Like a knife through butter, he swung it.
And the silver became red.

He swung, and he swung, till he could swing no more.
But like a swarm, they kept coming.
And one lonely arrow pierced his heart,
As the orchestra of bows kept strumming.

And joy rushed through his pierced heart,
Where sorrow and regret should've been.
And a sweet melody played on,
Instead of the deadly din.

As he lay down there, in a puddle of blood,
He looked up to the golden skies.
As his forefathers stood with open arms,
Tears streaming down his eyes.

At last, he was free, truly.
No more fighting over land.
Because the place he was going to,
Would be free of destiny's hand.