War..

Men will march,
and men will die.
Trumpets blare,
and women cry.

The sight of battle,
the smell of blood.
The sound of dying,
the taste of mud.

Yelled commands,
and shouted orders.
They all fight,
for petty borders.

Screaming horses,
groaning men.
Clashing metal,
death of kin.

Food that rots,
water that dries.
The sound of battle,
the men that die.

And yet in time,
forget they will.
a week, a year,
again they kill.