Death Doth Cry

The life beneath but skin and bone,
Too soon gone, souls scream home,
Jump rare beauty upon the dash,
Iron clad hooves their rearing clash,
Against the steel of Rome.
War hammers render armor shine,
Mail impaled with pikes and flail,
To bludgeon flesh of sinewed flanks,
Corrupt in pools of fear filled ranks.
Splashing soup of blooded water,
Drink for kings and royal daughters,
Who watch from walls of castle’s gleam,
Birthing arrogant pride obscene.
Men swing blind as animals howl,
Thrusting swords that slice the
Bowels of the dying who only wish
. . . . . . . to live their love to give.