“The rhythmic cadence of boots on a cobbled street,

The clatter of wooden wheels as villagers flee,

The distant boom of approaching guns

The air is thick with fear

A baby cries, sensing the mayhem

Seeking it’s mother but she lies buried, embraced in a fertile tomb

Young men dig in, singing, in one voice to banish the urge to scream

The harsh bark of an officer calls them to attention.

Words are spoken – words meant to inspire, words meant to comfort

The sizzling hiss as light and heat are extinguished,

The rumble of tanks rolls through the night

The silence is shattered,

The blackness is crisscrossed with bolts of red and white

Frantic calls, “courage boys – here they come”

Agonising shrieks, the wet smack of bullets striking flesh

The swish of bayonets – limbs asunder

The sound of death, a final labored breath

Malevolent rivers of sticky red blood”

On the off chance that anybody remembers this from another blog, in another place – I haven’t pinched it, it was Wildie then, it still is.

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