The Ones Who Fly

May 28, 2017
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It seems the valiant soldiers are waving goodbye,
Leaving this land to cry
For all those marching
And those who fly.

On the field, the swords gleam
And the cannons blast.
Walls shatter
And burst the glass.
Rain trails close behind,
Leaving the heroes closed
And confined.

The tents are drenched in mud,
Caked in crimson blood.
One day is down,
And night is left to crown
Another angel lying on the ground.

Dawn breaks on the horizon.
The enemy sings a forgotten tale
And our heroes gather arms
For another day in hell.

Fall thee to your foes hand,
Only to bleed on your land.
Another one has fallen,
And another day has sullen.

Gather round the fire
And heed these words:
“We are a brotherhood,
Valiant and good,
And we pray for those fallen.”
And the ones that would.

The final day ushers in.
The sun illuminates the land
And irradiates the stench
Of soldiers buried deep within a trench.

Bang! Bang!
Tick! Tock!
Hours tick away on the clock.
The sun dips low
And fires one more shot.

Our heroes lie dead
Under their thread,
The one woven in brotherhood.

We remember them so:
Valiant warriors at the mercy of foes
And the toils of their own woes.

Gather thee around the fire
And the heed this tale:
“They were a brotherhood,
Valiant and good,
And tonight we pray for those fallen
In the fields, the rivers, and the woods.
Now, we bow our heads and look to the sky,
Praying for those who marched away,
The ones who fly.”

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