Certain Death Amidst the Beauty of Blood

Hills are to blaze a dance upon death, and moonlight whistles a chargin' fall. Lighting rounds over heads draw breath, petals reddened in love do befall. Silence brings not but grimace, for the reapers breath so icy cold. Blood turns dead in poetic fuss, for there’s no gain to Those who’re bold. Orders not slain, but flesh might just differ. To the lines of the others, their fingers grew stiffer. “Over the top!” holding their breath, The Lions charged forward, towards certain death. Moonlight shone a dark icy hand. Reddened shirts, but forward to rush. The Lions soon laid upon solace land, they roared out in anger, smothered in slush. Ignoring the roaring, the shouting, the silence; the donkeys did laugh amidst the maelstrom. Forgetting the honour, the glory, the violence, there’s nothing but blood to remember the Gone. Orders not slain, but flesh might just differ. To the lines of the others, their fingers grew stiffer. “Over the top!” holding their breath, The Lions charged forward, towards certain death. The Others unknown, their voices unheard. Remain in the shadows upon fires that blaze. ‘Saddle to line, ignore your own demon.’ For He is a traitor, upon death he shall gaze! The Lions lay quiet, ‘What horror is this… …but you’ll be immortal as you draw your last breath.’ Its true what they said, with a laugh and a kiss, The Lions were fearless, and stood unto death. Led by the donkeys of people who fly, they died in vain, but poppy’s grew high. Thus, lest we forget, the Heroes untold, for fortune does carry the hope of the Bold. Orders not slain, but flesh might just differ. To the lines of the others, their fingers grew stiffer. “Over the top!” holding their breath, The Lions charged forward, towards certain death.