That moment when fear gives way to the stingy slut of action, we are forced to face life's ungoverned miscreants raging with hate. Forgotten, brefreft of reverence, and desperate for a skirmish of violence. Cries against our kin, those proud fierce solders of pride stand proud. That dismal battlefield of the commonwealth, grey as the sky at dusk yet unaware of its future task.
When the final bugle sounds, the raw stench of a neglected sewer-ditch, fixes itself in the air above the blood stained and newly hallowed ground as the scarlet liquid feeds the soil. The once dauntless and sure generals with tear-dashed cheek evaluate what is left of their whorehouse of shame as they hang low their brows.
Our cochineal courage lay dormant in need of approval from the law-stationer’s god. Many will leave with empty scared souls. Those who remain, battle-worn and grateful of a gentle rain. This event complete, homeward they march. Ever forward heads riding broad with the trust that today death has been paid his due.
-Johnny V.
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