The Victors

The Victors

Dark and deserted they desperately cling
to songs of glory that others might sing.

Illusions of power and honor for woe
the wailing of women will haunt them I know.

Over and over they'll hear them again
cries for mercy not drowned by the wind.

Weeping and wailing still sound in the ear
of victory's hollow the guilt lingers near.

A lifetime of penance they traded for blows
on the field of honor amidst the death throes.

Crested and plumed the proud warriors won
but from nightmares of battle the victors will run.