uploaded June 2, 2011.
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Ruins of Battle
by
Justin Barron
The sky, a brilliant color of crimson, and the lake a deep azure. This night was cold as the graves. Silence that would choke the very sound once made. Walls of the ages, come and gone, that crumble to the touch. Scored by the edge of blades etched into their faces. Arrows used from long before, still pierced to the ground. Ancient ruin walls, half standing, half fallen, sunk into the earth.
Now the wind blows cold, waving its golden fields. Not a soul, a sound, a creature around. Just the moon overseeing all that is and was. To see all that it has seen, one would say, "Why is war so? How beautiful and sad all the same. What was then and what is now the reasons to be?"
To see the now and be free.
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