The Finer Points of War

Marching against each other on ground of pure white snow,
They're weapons are sharp and minds are clear.
Today is the last day of war.

The victor of this match shall be the ones that live,
Telling stories of their win forever after.
In legends. myths and sagas.

I stand amongst the men today with heart pounding away.
The butterflies in my stomach playing games.
Trepidation in the frosty air.

Our leader calls and we reply, renewed in our resolve.
We shall stain the ground with their blood,
Until the water flows red.

Knives and clubs, slashing and smashing, blood runs free.
Soaked in blood not all my own, I stand alone.
The fight is finally over.

We've won, beaten back those that had dared to stand up.
Yet no joy does my pounding heart exude.
I only see the dead friends.

My memories haunt me as the rain and snow begins to fall.
The blood washes away and leaves the pain.
Dreams of men I've killed.

What power do we hold to believe that killing men was fine?
Fine men leaving behind their loved ones
Are still men in the end…

KC - 18/7/05