Death poem

Their skeletal forms offering little protection to the warriors beneath
the ghastly visages of the dead, kept from their eternal rest.
Dark grudges against their enemies force them forever onwards,
keeping in time to the steady beat of the damned.
I watch and see their bodies crumble, till they are no more than a mist
a memory of a once proud man, now trapped forever in this everlasting war.
I step away from the mournfull scene, and face the skeletal man.
I ask him "Why?" but no answer do I get, just a frozen grin,
chalk white, frozen for eternity, the last gift from the life that damns us.
Kill me now, let me bleed to death on the reapers blade,
and spare me from the grief that's comming towards us like a plague,
Spare me from the torment that's rising up from deep below.
The boughs of hell are comming forth, to end this misery.
I turn and face the dreadful scene, the battle of the dead.
Everlasting, never ending,
until,
both sides,
are,
gone.