This dark storm has been wreaking havoc within me for so long.  

It starts by twisting my thoughts and feelings upside down,  

Bending the truth so that all that remains are lies.

Then it tightens my chest and my throat

Making it nearly impossible to catch a breath,  

I pant, pant, pant, just for a single breath of air.  

This tornado lands on my ribcage and settles there a while,  

weighing what seems to be a thousand pounds.  

Breathe, breathe, breathe, please!  

Then the destructor settles on my eyes and covers them,  

making it difficult to focus my sight and see clearly,  

The reality around me blurs,  

see, see, see, now...  

Now it decides to zap my body  

so that I shake, shake, shake as if it's 0° outside.  

I curl up into myself and roll back and forth.  

Through all this movement in my body,  

the lies never stopped waging war in my mind.  

Like the sounds of swords being sharpened before battle,  

the terrifying noise sends a shudder to my very bones.  

My body and mind are so weak and tired from this relentless torment.  

At the first signs of battle, I try to fight back with the truths I've been told since my youth,  

but the enemy keeps pulling and pulling at me.  

Little by little, my strength wears down,  

and the only response I can seem to find to the lies is...

Submission.

The only boy in the family got drafted into the army. He saw that the journey away from home might be his last. "Mother, please take this rose. I will come back once it has withered," the young man said to his mother as he wiped the tear on her cheek. He went down the road looking at the sky. The rose never withered, and the boy never returned. His ashes were scattered in the winds by the explosion that devastated his journey. His name got engraved on a stone, and that is what's left of him. One time he prayed to return and two times he perished. One time he was posthumously awarded and two times he was remembered.
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Memorial to the people that gave their lives for their cause.
They headed to the battlefield with enormous courage,
fought for what they believe in
and caught the prize of remembrance and honor.
Even though they wanted to live happily with their families.

Many children were left without their dads
and many grandchildren had no grandfathers there to love and play with.
All of this was because of the desire to conquer
and wishes for fortune of some people.

Here this stone will remain
with the names of the fallen heroes for eternity.
For their families to remember and what they could have had
if it wasn't for the mindless people and their blade of destiny.
The flowers we put show that their sacrifice wasn't in vain.

Red chinstraps
Wet blood, slowly drying in the evening breeze
Folded into wells of clouded waves with vague concentric origin
Closer, a flattened helmet, orange ochre blazing
Sun sinking, stars chasing
Warrior's stratified locks wisp out to vanishing points
Freckles of sputtered bronze
Slowly becoming red
Slowly becoming an omen
Foreshadowing tears to be wept
Horses that lay silent
On the eastern Ural Steepe

i am viking past
unknown voyager of seas
and to death battle

It isn't the quality of the words that measure truth
it's the men we all see with such clear eyes
Two brothers trapped in a pitched battle
echoes of their roots displayed in a contest of wills
two brothers follow the same dream
two brothers dance the same songs
We can never stop being who we are
we can grow thriving under a perfect sun
but our roots forever spread from the single source
our birthplace and home
Two brothers trapped in a pitched battle
find peace at last in each others truth
we are the same inside the dream
we are fellow travelers
whose nature it is to find hope and love
in the cloudiest of days

Can I fall with grace
Can I admit defeat like that instead
I want to flail my arms
Kick my legs
Do anything to fight back against this
But I don't think this battle
Is one for me to win
So can I end with grace

Thy mere soul and thy paint.
Forced to relentlessly battle.
Yet, not quite sure when; nor where to strike;  regardless of such, thou need not bow beneath thy sworn enemy like a coward in the night.  
Thy must remember that with time thy vessel shall grow to be rather faint.
Tis upon the beginning of the end, that thy brittle bones shalt rattle...
Whilst sorrowful eyes lose sight.
Now blind, beaten, and battered.
Hopelessly lost between what once was and all that has yet to come.
There be not a **** thing more mournful than thee, thy own soul withering away like a departing flower in may.
Thy trudged onward despite thy heart being shattered as well as scattered.
'Twas in that dreadful hour that thy feelings perished and thy had begun to grow numb.
What a remarkable day is to be rotting to the core like a corpse left to decay.

how many men die
before the final battle
more than are needed