On green fields painted red, I meet you.
You are enemy of my people, my ideals, and my wellbeing.
We cross paths and cross swords.
Neither yields, neither falls.
The bodies of our brothers and sisters lay still around us in numbers too great to measure.
Who they are, who they were,
Friend, or foe…
It is impossible to know.
The faces of the dead blur together,
Erasing the stark lines that once separated them.
Now they are forever joined together in slumber eternal.
Yet we fight on.
Battered and bruised,
We are unaware of the time, and our pain.
The urge to kill what lies before our eyes consumes and overwhelms.
What we fight for means nothing.
What we seek to protect means nothing.
Only to see the other dead,
This is what we fight for,
This is why we stubbornly refuse to make amends.
What began as a clash of minds,
Soon turned to shouting,
And finally all out war.
From civilized men to the savage beasts the gods abhor.
What have we become?
What have we made?
Weariness finds us.
Blades fall, but fists still fly.
Blood hides our faces,
And blinds us to one another.
Yet the hatred guides.
Glancing strikes, and strikes returned.
A scene beyond tragedy, beyond forgiveness.
But onward we struggle,
For the other’s elusive demise we so bitterly yearned.
Night falls as do we.
A heap among our comrades and adversaries alike
Too weak to breathe, yet too tired to die,
There we lie in the mound of our sins.
When the moon shines, a gasp marks final breath.
Then we too are touched by death.
All for naught, there is nothing gained.
No reward for our beaten bodies strained.
We perish, not as heroes, but as fools.
To go so far for mere pebbles in a world of mountains.
To you, my enemy, our mistake is done.