About the Poem
This is my effort to show the futility of warfare, or for that matter the uselessness of most combat of any sort.
The Victor |
| by Seth |
| He stood alone there on the field his sword was stained and cracked his armor colored red with blood from the enemies he had hacked. The shadows grew across the land as he watched the setting sun his thoughts were filled with deep despair but... the battle had been won. Alone he stood, there in that place bleeding and used up, silently he stood alone then bowed his head and could not look up the fight was fought, his heart now so cold. At what a cost... this victory what had he won at this expense thousands dying, dead or maimed bodies ripped and torn and rent. Not one could stand there with him he stood this ground alone not a single man would join him it turned his heart to stone. Then the pain was with him as he fell into the mud the wound was deep and deadly and he tasted his own blood. In vain he tried to rise once more the reaper had come to call there was a victor on the field and he had claimed them all. He stood alone, upon that field, his sickle glistening red a joyous look upon his face he came and claimed his dead. Then one by one he touched them claimed every single son and silently he turned and left this battle he had won. |
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3 Visitor Comments
DeeDee
I liked this poem very much. It talked about the reasons I hate war.
Jess
I really like your poem and it is so true!
White Rayven
A wonderful poem. heartfelt and the truth about wars no matter what the century or the wepons used
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