The Bloodied Sword

Posted on January 10, 2013

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He drags his sword
behind him
The blade cutting
through the dirt
Exhausted he is
through battle
His muscles and
wound does hurt

Caked in mud and
sweat
Blood pouring from
a deep cut
Crows and ravens
fly overhead
He closes his
eyes shut

But images are
there before him
Showing all that
was done
In the name of
freedom
Under a blood
red sun

Finally he
collapses
on the field
of battle
Just wanting
to sleep
But his mind
does rattle

What was
the point
Of all this
death?
Just for a
little land
Or power
some have said?

Pointless all
of it is
Far too many
dead
Some won’t see
husbands or kin
Or sleep in
their own beds

Whose blood
is on his sword
He wonders as
he looks at it
Who did he
kill?
Are the crows
tearing him to bits?

Finally he walks
away
Strength returning
to him now
No wars for
others will he fight
Only his family
will he himself allow

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Posted in: Poetry