Aftermath Of A War

By Liz Thomas Pattara

Death,

Comrade of the slain,

The dark-visaged grandeur

Shrouded in mystery.

He runs amok the warfront,

Calling the perished souls

To him, the anticipated stranger

Whose embrace few yearns.

Vengeance,

Progeny of the slain,

Appeals to the mighty Ares,

The army lies in wait.

Trickery, Cunning, and Selfishness,

Overlords of the pawns,

Whose lust for blood and the ensuing madness

Blinds them to their wrongs.

Clammy with pain,

Blood and gore coats their broken bodies,

"Mercy ! " they cry in vain

To the battle-hardened men with benumbed hearts.

By Liz Thomas Pattara