This is War

War isn’t glory.
War isn’t what the bards sing of,
War isn’t a God –

War is blood.
And rust and shards of gold in place of gilded cities

War is a distant breeze;
a promise of Utopia,
whispered at the twelfth hour
amidst the chaos
in the dreams of restless youth

War is what turns
legions upon legions of masses
into gore and dust and fables

War is Ares,
wearing the skins of the men
He has slain,
with the barest hint of triumph
on His lips just before
the battle trumpets are blown

War is blood we turn into poetry.