Towards Home

grimy, hot-throated men
lips pursed
statue-like
for an instant
all hands
still. silent...steady

feet then march
towards sights unknown
through shouts and swirling color
swords glisten
crimson rivers
final blows are dealt

the game then ends
with quick disaster
time to count your numbers

wounds are healed
or left alone
for the soilders
who make their way
towards home





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