Eternal War's Reflection

In boreas gloom, same face blade does rend. Swords split the

brave. Their gore torrents and skulls pile high. Beneath the sun

of wrathful red and trails strewn wide where his cursed boots tread.

The crone looms high, her staff a ghostly pyre. Observing slaughters dance

untouched by mortal fire. Silent scars scream of glories cost in blood and

dust, all hope is lost. War is ugly and beautiful,

a testament to our time. War is what we were made for,

destroying all that's alive. War is true and terrible, an instrument of