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 They want revenge; their anger is released; And soon the Eastern Army is withdrawn.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: Second Place in: "Invalid Item" |