[Poetry] The War, The Artist and the Soldier.
War waged between freedom and a fire invasion,
Orders shouted, metal churned on a bloody horizon,
Between pain-stricken soldiers and crying infants
I marched through corpses, eyes struck with distance.
Plea of fright, death pulling them away from the fight,
Hair on strings, wooden stock in hand, loss in sight,
Gushing blood around me, shattered bones and hopes,
My friend, someone’s brother, soon to be father, a corpse.
It’s them that empower my word, they push me forward,
A few strings played to stem the tide of an invading horde.
Mud taking flight, rocks crumbling and souls departing,
Some run and mourn, the battlefield caught the dead sleeping.
One man’s crawl, a nation’s fall, freedom’s demise,
I march alongside him, from the mud he tries to rise,
His resolve is unshakable, his legs are broken, his vision blurred,
He grasps the iron goal, as cold as the souls lost, a shout unheard.
He begins to die, still going, resurrecting the morale of those alive
I play for him, he deserves more than my violin, he must survive!
Eyes close as the flag rose, time and battle almost froze, done,
I continue, I’m ready to donate my life, my fear of death, gone.
The last few steps are hardest, my hands soaked in blood and sweat,
I can’t play much longer, my strings almost ripped and upset,
Shoulders shatter as they’re shot, eyes blank out under the sun,
A smile on my face, the sun smiling back as I fall, death by gun,
The war was won, but he never saw the end of it,
I’m now a hero, flowers thrown, I can relax for a bit,
To his grave I took my flowers, he deserves more than what I’ve said.
In the end I’m happy, the sun’s up, children are laughing, I’m dead.
They fall down every match and every day, they are the ones that always die, so grant them a bit more than a whisper in the wind, because in the eyes of a soldiers, the Heroes are gods, but they are the true heroes. They are the ones that leave behind their lives and march onwards, subjected to pain, to the harsh battlefield and most of the time, ending up dead. Within the confines of Neo-Lafort, there is a statue showing several men holding a flag upwards and shouting, it's the infantry that dies that wins the war, not you, Noble, nor your Heroes.