Fallen

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A thickened fog transcends the vast bedrock.
The metal armed patriots move along the bunkers and barricades;
Stumbling and racing to the dirty ground beneath.
The violent, horrific screams, all the merciful pleading hidden,
Lost in the never-ending waves of war.
Blood permeates the shadowed hills of the countryside;
Hell fire paints a sinister mark amidst the partition.
Stiffened bodies sprawl the battleground.

A torn landscape of the valiant and defeated,
A few remaining men try to salvage an escaping hope.
The last strides taken, vanished without a sight.
Nobody gets out alive.
The smoke, the litter, the ash,
A final poison that destroyed them all.

Now desolate and barren,
Just skin and bones, a dark grave, a pitiful home.
The abrasive scavengers feed off the rotten flesh,
All the erratic limbs and severed heads sink away in vein.
Only a faint ghostly echo,
No audible voice, no visible life.

Forever buried in a tyrannous commotion,
Just another piece of wasted history on superfluous pride and despicable notions.
Fallen the men were.
Fallen for all the grains of time.





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