The Tree of Dreams

By TheOrangutan

137K 3K 3K

Random poetry and the occasional drabble or dribble of other short random thought from the depths my somewhat... More

The Tree of Dreams
Love's Bitter Flow
Mr Mason's Fleas
Where's My Jet Pack
With Summer
At the Nadir
Cereal Zombies
The Puzzleometry of Poetry
With Home in Mind
Dubble Wabble Wybble Twabble Twubble
Caged by Rain
Sun, Moon and Sea
The Spirit of Woodstock
A Place of Peace
What's in Granma's handbag?
Dawn's New Day
Peanut
Penned in Black
Starlight
Larksong
So Ask Your Question...
Carry Me
Fan Cap
My Mate Stan
Guffin'
On Edge
Delusion and Memory
Brian's Brain
Fading Light
In Memory and Darkness
TV Dinner
Gentle Curves
The DNA of Clay
The Ultimate Self-Portrait
Capela Dos Ossos
Nocturnal Detritus
Slender Threads of Chance
Battered Wordsworth
A Younger Man's Face
Average Paul
Ode to Potato
The Light
We're all doomed, DOOMED I say!

Blood of the Fallen

3.4K 53 50
By TheOrangutan

Blood of the Fallen

Blood,

and horror.

We fought on,

consumed by anger’s fury.

Battling the enemy; blunting weapons,

‘gainst a never ending horde attacking.

As they fought, slowly winnowing our ranks,

the dead piled up before us; silent, unmoving.

They were unskilled, but sheer numbers ground us down.

They had no plan other than to overwhelm and kill.

Men:

but not.

Looking like men,

They bled like men,

but they attacked like ants.

Bathing in the blood of others,

we killed those that ran towards us.

As we grew few, inevitably, they broke through;

swarming over the still twitching bodies of fallen comrades.

So, we were forced to retreat, fighting a desperate rearguard.

Fighting

No mercy,

No quarter asked

And no quarter given.

We regrouped, they encircled us,

a tide rising around a stone.

We battled on, fighting for our lives,

hacking away with tired arms and failing hope.

Brother with sword brother; in an ever decreasing circle.

And then, abruptly, the horror of battle was finally over.

Maybe…

Battle ceased,

my deadened sword,

killing the last opponent;

I could see no more.

Silent, and standing amongst the dead,

our weapons and bodies covered in gore.

We were alive. Drained and empty, but victorious.

We sent our prayers of thanks to the heavens,

but as the skies darkened towards night, other gods answered.

Sunset,

brought terror.

Movement in shadows.

Limbs stirred, bodies moved

and silently the dead reanimated.

Lifting themselves from the bloody soil,

like puppets, they walked, staggered or crawled,

dragging their shattered bodies towards us once more.

The sun dipped below the horizon, leaving monochrome sight,

We lifted blunted weapons, and then the true horror began.

~~~

A/N – This is based on a short piece I did for a competition run by Mera2876, that will hopefully be appearing elsewhere on Wattpad soon.

This is a style I first saw while reading Chairsniffa’s epic SciFi prose which according to my learned colleague is more ancient that both of us. Greek I believe, although given my knowledge of poetry I could be ancient Gaelic for all I know…

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