The Bloody Poet

The battlefield, never a place of beauty Flowers grow, where blood did flow And souls were taken, by sword and arrow All in the name of a god, we shall meet too soon Battle cries, as eagles sore Hunting for dinner, their final score Symphonies compose the battle plans, Marching bands play their scores Evil lurks, in palace courts As Royals sit, courtesans in tow Plotting riches, on bloody conquests The serfs indentured to a fate unknown Row on row of unmarked graves Be they soldiers or be they slaves All died for Noble desires To burn in hell, among King and Queen The forests are filled with past glories The soil beneath, filled with blood and gore Muskets and cannon answer to histories lore We lie in fields bleeding, hearts torn We died for nothing Our children weep Graves have no flags We sing as ghosts Battle no more