Stephen Lambert

After The Battle

The banners shift lazily at the zephyr's touch,
Lines of polished steel form roads of evening light.
The air heavy with the sickly stench of recent death
While the jubilation of survival crackles in the dusk.

My death seemed so certain in the frigid dawn.
Acceptance of my fate pervaded my senses
But danger and need contorted thoughts of fear,
Driving thrust and parry ‘til the battle was no more.

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