dark times

Times of dark, a beacon shines
true brotherhood, friendship.
Alliances forged old and new,
through a desperate time.

Sweet smell of morning
brings another day
as the sun traverses the horizon.
A great horde stands still
beneath the crystal blue sky.
All clad black, leather armor
pauldrons of gray, speckled with red,
red from battles of before.

A horrendous roar, the war rampages
men mercilessly murdering men
kin pitted against one another
families torn by opposite sides.
Such a day should have never been.

Suddenly, silence surrounds the enraged,
an image of black and white etched forever.
A benign scene emerges,
the dead seemingly resting,
pools of red like spilled wine
all dead drunk, sleeping.

Shame befalls all witnesses
full of regret, remorse.
This war fought for none
only obstinate stupidity.
A woeful war, which no one won.