The End

 

Forlorn they cry where shadows lie
And husbands leave the home
Sons and brothers, uncles and fathers,
Across a dead land roam

Skies of black above their backs
Shoulders hunched by woe
A weary tred as legions head
To face the tyrant foe

For rest they yearn while fires burn
Beacons on the horizon
Terror signs of evil times
And shadow hordes arising

A shifting cloak of boiling smoke
An acrid rotting smell
Hid beasts of death with poisonous breath
Eyes lit with fires of hell

Face to face with weapons raised
In a land gone black with blight
Brave men roared when arrows soared
Shadows called delight

On that field did no man yield
Each and all were slain
The shadow hordes and Midnight Lords
Marched on to bloody reign

©Aarron Mondello 29/7/2018

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