Victory Poem by Andrew Hinton

People are filing past me with wounds so great,
I feel as though I have entered this battle too late.
Here under the darkened sky,
As ghouls of the enemy fly.
Down the valley we march to make war,
Ignoring the muscles that are already sore,
Faced by a war we cannot win,
To refuse to fight would be a sin.
Engage, engage and the battle is made,
Avenge the ones in graves we laid.
But the tide has turned and we are too weak,
Now some turn and refuge seek.
Here with the vanguard I stand and fight,
While others turn and begin to take flight.
Fall, fall many beginning to die.
Eyes closing with one last sigh.
I myself have been wounded bad,
Others around have gone mad.
Still the enemy grinds though us all,
Until finally, a sword in my chest, I fall.
And then with my fading eyes,
I watch the sun rise.
For rising with the yellow light,
Are thousands more who've come to fight.
And with my dying breath I laugh aloud.
As in fear the enemy begins to howl.