Conscience Poem by Thomas Ware

I swing my sword.
A thrumming hum,
Emits from it,
Just like a drum.

Blood splatters,
Bone shatters,
Armor breaks,
And I shake.

I killed a man,
Must soon kill more,
Thought comes later,
But I abhor,
What I have done,
And what I have become.

Men run close,
Friends, or foes?
Too late to decide,
I thrust my shield
Into his eyes
The stranger yields,
Falls, and dies.

I look in horror,
To the blood-soaked snow.
Who else tonight,
Has fallen below?

Once again, self-loathing tries, to put a halter,
Around my neck, but I won't falter.

I stumble on,
Cleaving, slashing,
At who?

Friend or foe,
Who really knows?
They both are killing,
And then I know,
They're the enemy,
But so are we.