Confrontation Poem by adam stevens

Swords of flame
a blur of motion and quickness
Sleek they came, slower they retreat
Fog covers steps, a whirl of grey mixed with dark
They cut through bitterness
they leave only strength behind
The men in line for a dance,
they're kept from the fray
This is not their fight
They're nudged back
The charming, the sly, the weak
Who's to fight, who's to wait,
What do we see when we cut through thge mist,
So many have fallen
You feel out of place
Crunching beneath your feet,
Bleached bones piled on high,
Fields of barley and rye
It's all empty now,
It's all empty then,
You just couldn't see it