Evening Rush

At the last stroke of the evening bell
More sinless men than sere leaves fell

Smoke went up the air, while souls
Of those dead warped to vile ghouls
In one decaying instant the great blue sky
Made devoid of its cosmic repose and joy

Echoes of distant gunshots heard
In a clamor of prayer and pleas, restless
In a conflict of the dying and deceased

Neither a moment nor a minute to be
When the thunder of cavalry
Would drown cries and roars whole
Of fierce men, of their tears that console

Far from the growing green fields here
Distant to the glow of dawn’s new sun
Mazed within shadows of fury and fear

Poised gunmen at an onrush of deathly desire
Voiceless, the wind cries with roaring fire
One by one, bullets, shrapnel shot ahead
One by one, swiftly unfought, several fell dead

All in a boiling winter, a heated battle
Pitter-patter, pitter-patter rain blooded rain
Seasons and reasons both at once turn insane

Beyond the edge of darkness, a hope for
Light remains, whether it is victory or loss
The grass is always much less red
On the other side it was said