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Rated: 13+ · Poetry · War · #1300637
A Shakespearean sonnet about the brutalities of war.
War rose across the peaceful countryside.
The armies came and clashed on farmer’s fields;
Their lives and homes burn fierce as they collide,
Neither side gives in ‘til the other yields.

The Eastern Army marches as they kill;
They slaughter every child, mother, and son.
Their bloodlust makes them want more blood to spill;
Their grisly work can't stop since it's begun.

The soldiers of the West march towards the East.
But it’s too late; the countryside is gone.
They want revenge; their anger is released;
And soon the Eastern Army is withdrawn.

But all across the blood-streaked, sobbing land,
There lives not one to lend a helping hand.



Notes:

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