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Sunday, October 16, 2016

The King and His Lament

Maybe when the battle is over I can pity the man
Whose Armies marched into my country
Raped and pillaged across my lands
But for now I must steel my heart.
I look at the army arrayed on this hill
Proud flying banners young naive soldiers
Brave, they don't know how brave, till they die
And already I can see them in the places they will lie.
I see them where they are standing, and I see them where they lie
Bent and broken things and blood every where.
They call this romantic, but for this grizzled hair I've had it.
I feel no glory, only shame. I sigh.
Maybe when the battle is over and the dead are buried
And this man and his armies are running, defeated and hurried.
I'll be able to try and understand his anger and his hate.
But I am standing with my army and the hour is drawing late.
And I must sound the horn to charge.
And now I go to my fate.
By Christopher H. Holte, channeling someone elses memories

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