Battlefield

Throughout the ages of time men have marched men have fought men have bled men have died For a field of land deemed strategic, an advantage, even holy ghosts of wars past cling to the soil waiting to welcome those of the future. Dead, the old men to the young boys for glory for victory for peace The fog fingers it way to heaven as if it was the smoldering smoke of cannons firing. A flash of lighting strikes as a blade of steel cutting into the flesh forever scaring a young face. Roar of thunder cracks and booms as rifle fire in sync mowing down rows and rows of advancing soldiers falling into the muck of war. Flags falling onto the field to soak the blood from dying soldiers bleeding their souls into the earth. Listen and hear phantoms of combat from mortal souls, hand to hand fist to fist, bayonet jabbing, swords slashing, spears piercing flesh. From sling shots to arrows to bullets to bombs on and on and on constant wars Fight for survival for conquest for greed for victory for glory Reasons enough for young men to believe War claims the sons now seduces the daughters death is the great equalizer. Quiet and calm, sounds of peace a soft breeze blows through the waves of grass The field is beautiful wild flowers grow through the rust of shrapnel haunting whispers echo the sound of beating drums The drumbeat of war marches on for generations gone and arriving.