On, War

On, War

 

There are only a select few who see the end of it. Yet it happens so willingly and carelessly. Love and hate crackle even when death lingers with his scythe to take the ones dying. Destruction meets in the middle as countless are slaughtered and even the innocent…why should they be sparred? Yet two, I find, found each other in love. An angel. A demon. Meeting in secret and so scared. They say nothing good comes from death, from war. Yet love was found, and it was good.

                As each attacker canceled each other out the numbers kept decreasing, leaving only the two. A war of this magnitude caused the skies to rain blood. Depression, confusion, and a numbing cold ensued after. A creeping alone, a dancing defeat; the two looked at each other, and back again at their families. What has been done cannot be undone. The acts preformed a senseless killing. How demonic were the angels becoming? The angelic trait can even be seen in the demonics.

Their eyes seemed to say these things to each other.