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.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
i believe war is an evil that cannot be avoided, if words fail to stop war then war must be waged. but any way, your words flow well and i loved reading it.