The Junta

This is an early poem inspired by a story I was plotting out.

If ever you ride the midnight hour
In the lands of the Junta where the Legion takes power
If the darkness doesn’t swallow you whole
The Legion comes here to demand your heart, your soul
And the Black Angel takes power
The Eyes watching in the shadows
Terror reigns, dreams turn shallow
And the end comes near
The rebellion will soon die here
As the storms that ravage the land
The dominoes fall in the Overlord’s hand
This clash, as no other, grinds to the sand
Conquistadors and Martyrs fly their flag
Guerrillas march as pawns as this game of tag
They plunder, they search, they destroy
The Imperialists think their game to be a toy
The pacifist say fight no more
Sing mercy, you shall, to the Angel of Death
For this game, and the fight is a War.