Autumn’s Battle

Rachel Steinberg

And so they stand, soldiers

In lofty towers, proud and swaying

With emerald banners rustling

As rippled whispers slip through the ranks –

Words of the enemy,

His waiting, his watching

Cruel as the carrion bird, circling lazily,

As he observes his supper.

He edges onward stealthily

Across a smoking sky

A blight, a plague, a pox

Of bitter ends and frozen hearts,

Of frosted flashing spears

Waved in chill assurance

As the drums beat ever on

To the snapping of the flags

And the troops listen, silent,

In bloody anticipation.

And in an instant

Lasting an eternity,

The shadows yield to war

And scarlet pours forth,

Choking green

In crimson stains unquenchable

As gold flares like trembling fire

In a soldier’s eyes

And the wail-shriek of a battle cry

Rings out, deep and hoarse,

In defiance, in despair

Across the bitter battleground.

In droves they plunge to the

Velvet earth, embraced by the cold

Of the enemy’s black laughter,

Piled in burgundy heaps

To burn in pyres of defeat

That we kindle and watch, apathetic,

Indifferent to the crumpled lives

We crush beneath our feet.

So soon forgotten are the

Green people,

Falling in glory and sanguine beauty

In a sacrifice we do not notice,

Safe as we are from the

Grim gray-clad general,

Whose armies take the day

But shall be conquered when the

Springtime children

Of the long dead soldiers blossom

In vengeful splendor

From their unmarked graves.