06-23-2020, 03:26 AM
I was told that war is an awful profession.
That the blood leaves a lasting impression.
That men die in the arms of one another.
That men cry for the warmth of their mothers...
I saw men crumble the pillars of empires and time helps them forget it.
I was once at the end of a sword and it would cut so deep until I said it...
I am preceded by Valkyries, like thunder before lightning, it is death that comes for me.
I am a soldier. I draw my sword for you. My gift is the fading memories of those poor chosen few.
I am not unique, nor am I special. My blood made no difference to the devil.
I flew away with the rest of my years. Flew far from the skies that swallowed some here.
Among the clouds, there are warriors armed with a longing for home.
In the dirt, there are memories of men carried by others to atone.
We beg forgiveness for our sin of pride. It is what we have left of those who die.
It is what we hold onto as we rot through with sorrow. So we will leave it to our posterity
to carry this burden tomorrow.