Only once have I seen blood. Only once have I seen death, a scent carried on a mournful breeze, spread across a graveyard untended for. Souls drift, lost and forlorn.
This nation is utterly destroyed. Cut down in ranks from a hundred to one. They fought a thousand nights and a thousand days, each more bloodshed than the last. Each soldier fated to a noble death in the hands of destiny. Sword met sword, shields locked in ranks, yet they were destroyed nevertheless. Armor litters the grounds in pools of silver. What meaning to precious gemstones have at the price of life?
Triumphant battle cries still ring in my ears. Spears raised and thrown, arrows pulled back and then launched, volley after volley. Alone, cutting down thousands upon millions. Once a sea of war-criers in sturdy coats and silver weapons, chariots gliding in their wake.
Now, only ashes are spread across the ground.
Screams spread across the world. Merciless striking of dented metal and tired men. Each unwilling to yield, though there are words, hanging in the air. Silent reminders weighing on shoulders and slowing swords; only one of you may win.
War cries and merciless bloodshed, each soldier struck down rings painful in my ears. Mourning souls across the world screaming in unison.
No, these soldiers have not died a noble death, in the hands of destiny.
For this bloodshed has caused nothing but more anger. Each soldier's life, given up for the sake of simple argument. God's punishment lies, a scattering of ashes across the fields and dancing across the air. The smell of flames that swallowed the men still burn bright in my eyes. Sparks dance on the empty, blackened lawn.
Oh, what has become of these men? No noble deaths, only fire, for it is what comes with playing with flames.
But in the littered ashes, a body stirs. Hair singed, armor tattered and molten. Three days and three nights, watching the same sunrise under closed eyelids. Now the world is filled with light. The smile of God, flowing into sunlight, spreading cries of joy across the world.
No more war cries echo in my ears. No more flames dance in my eyes.
For from the ashes, a fire shall be woken. But not a fire to bring to dust all the problems of the world. Instead, this fire will burn in people's hearts; singed hair and tattered armor. A spark of hope, birthed from everlasting battles.
A spark from the ashes of the dead, that grew into a flame, that grew into a fire.
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A Writer's Words
PoetryA writer's words, short thoughts and musings spun into a thoughtful story. All this built atop an older poem that sparks ideas left and right. Eight stories, based off eight lines of beautifully-picked words within a poem. Deeper meaning and underst...
