Stories

Stories are told of ages before,
Stories of triumph and strength,
Of hope and courage,
Of death and fear
Of sorrow and pain.

In the dead of night, peak of the hill,
Laughter of men on strong drinks,
Laughter that did little to hide their fear,
Ominous camp fires from the opposite end.
This is war.

They sang songs, melodies of death and life.
Tunes of hope, melodies of sorrow,
Notes of celebration, chords of regret,
A father's shout, a mother's cry.
This is war.

As the morning dawns, belts are buckled, swords are sheathed,
Boots are worn, breastplates adorned,
Spears are raised, flags are hoisted.
This is war.

If this is death, so be it.
It is destined for a man to die once,
Then face judgement.
Trials are official events,
My excuse to be fully girded.
If I am to be judged, let me stand dignified.
Polished armour, shining sword.
If today is the day, so be it