Battle with Horn and with Beat

Trumpets sound distantly down in the deep
while the drum moves with haste and does not skip a beat.
Echoes, “boom!”, echoes “boom!”, echoes “boom!” on the walls
the impending doom of our fate comes to call.
Flushed are the faces and shaking the hands,
no longer does hope rule or reign on their lands.
Echoes, “boom!”, echoes “boom!”, echoes “boom!” up the cliff,
and the trumpets down deeply enhance on their riff.
The catalyst battles his demons inside,
they’re approaching him physically, thus he cannot hide.
To where can he run if the darkness surrounds?
Or will he bravely stand with both feet on the ground?
Echoes, “boom!”, echoes “boom!”, echoes “boom!” down the trail,
will his adversaries soon cause him to fail?
The horns of unease paired with beats of despair
the darkness approaches with kin and with heir.
Adrenaline pumps purifying the fear,
as the battle of battles is increasingly near.
The honor of pride and the virtue or strength,
will together take him to the end of his length.
Echoes “boom!”, echoes “boom!”, echoes “boom!” on the drums,
the ones in their ears as no more can they run.
The pierce of the trumpets is rising in pitch,
and the cowards lay crying face down in a ditch.
The heroes stand zeroed as targets of ease,
while the wisest of men pray to God on their knees.
The end of the road means the end of the line,
and the end of the line means the end of their time.
The end of their time means the start of their faith,
and with swords, wielding crosses, they approach holy wraith.
Echoes “boom!”, echoes “boom!”, echoes “boom!” as they fight,
while each man in the darkness fears hallways of light.
Swords paired with shields cover fields of the dead,
as the battle erupts in full swing, all have bled.
“Not me!” cries a boy of but seventeen years,
who cannot see his fate through his eyes drowned in tears.
“Yes you!” cries the messenger holding his fate,
taking sword o’er his shoulder with vigor and hate.
“My mother, I love her!” as his voice fades away,
as it travels through mist of the night, of the gray.
Echoes “boom!”, echoes “boom!”, echoes “boom!” in their hearts,
as they look to both sides seeing friends torn apart.
A twin loses balance when down in the dirt,
he sees next to coward his brother, so hurt.
A father with daughters back home thinks of them,
As he fights with the forces of crazed men condemned.
The brave men risk all for the cowards who plan,
showing boys on their horses what makes a real man.
The sun rises slowly as the endings commence,
as survivors try of what is left to make sense.
Echoes “boom!,” echoes “boom!”, echoes “boom!” on the graves,
a salute of a song by the strong who were saved.
A prayer for the fallen who bravely gave all,
who more strongly than others had fate come to call.
The hum of the trumpets is gentle yet stern,
and on torches do fires of memories burn.
Remember their faces ‘fore here grows their grass,
and tonight at the feast to them raise up your glass.
Echoes “boom!”, echoes “boom!”, echoes “boom!” in the hall,
for the thunder of drums here will be the last call.
The beat of the drums after feasting will cease,
and the trumpets will rest leaving quiet and peace.
The beats of the hearts with the drums now will rest,
and to silence the horns is the one final test.
When the music is lost with the memories gone,
what remains is an aftermath absent of song.

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