Iron-Clad soldiers
prepping for war
sentries are thrown up
they are hunting
the beasts and their riders
were not prepared for its coming
the beasts roar and edge forward
as the riders kick into a soft spot
they are squeezed together
and are close enough to jostle
but they fear the riders temper
they stop moving, and sound is snatched from midair
the horses fom below cry out in pain
as the stables are opened
it is too late for those iron clad
the sentries
or the beasts
the Devil's blade minces the twilight
and black death explodes in its place
Night storms in and we cower
awaiting the bitter end
but have not dismay
the army of dawn's footsteps
thundering through the dark
come down from above
it is evident in the difference