The man blowing the bugle stopped now
As he looked out over the field from the crest of the hill.
He saw bodies lying about some red, some pale
Some dark as night. He shivered as he saw friends
People he knew were scattered about
Not just soldiers and warriors – oh no
He saw women and children, teens and,
and Babies.
The man saw babies upon the field
Which had been green with grass and now stood
Red – crimson red.
The red flowed over the bodies and under them also.
Ravens and crows and various scavenger birds not
Prey, circled above then landed.
Other vermin and critters stepped among the remains which lay there, feasting on the corpses that once were living and now – now lay dormant in the fields below.
The man slowly lifted his eyes from the scene
As his senses raged with the anguish and pain from ages past.
The pain of loss and grief, of the emptiness of a land no longer filled with life, love and laughter.
But now the coldness of a spiritless body, cold and clammy with the covering of darkness and death.
His limbs now frail from fright, unresponsive to the touch of humanity.
Unresponsive to the warm flow of humankind and
Bestowed by God from the heavens to the lesser beings below.
Cry out cry out for the lost souls of friends and family.
Cry out for your own cold, lifeless and empty being. You have not escaped the judgement of the ages nor will you suck upon the essence of life any longer.
Your fate is tied to the humanity that once was yet no longer is nor will ever be again.
Your fate goes by way of the errant missile stripped of its warhead yet frozen in the
wasteland of space and time – time gone past – time and time again multiplied by thousands upon thousands of timeless events.
The fruit of the spirit no longer alive and well.
The fruit gone dry and rancid now,
denigrated and resigned;
Resigned now to Hell…

~ by Vinnie on April 30, 2018.

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