The Dew

The noise on the battle field ended just as the fog lifts from the ground every morning,
hand in hand with the sun.
In the silence we stood,
looking upon contorted bodies left by the noise of blind hatred,
they lay surplus; dead, like the dew that graced the grass,
left as a solemn sign of humanities ravaging spirit mere hours before.
Left as a solemn warning to those that dare lust for power.
The elder wars against his siblings, his slaves.
Repressing, Depressing, forcing his own blood to craft their own graves.
And as brother slay brother where they fell they would lay, amids discarded armaments and the dew of the day.

-StephenAndrew-

Reviews

[Hedra Helix]

that last sentence was tight;)

this is the second pc ive read of yours and I get a sense of this softness in the sounds of your words though you may be talking about hard and vicious things, its very cool, graceful in state of mind and how it expressed on the page.


this though ya may wanna look at,
-The noise on the battle field ended (ends?) just as the fog lifts{