Following a recent reminder of my own mortality....the first of three
poems

We are the soldiers of the dusk
And every night we rise
We stand upon the battlefields
And look with empty eyes

The man that is beside me
Might be my foe or friend
But passion is forgotten, he's
My companion to the end.

Our clothes have lost their colours
Our weapons gone to rust
Our battle cries no more are heard
Our banners turned to dust

Until the swords are shattered
Until the arrows broken
Until man's hate is doused
Each eve are we awoken.

We are the soldiers of the dusk
O'erhead the ravens fly.
And here we wait, 'til man no more
To senseless war must die.

Penned by my hand on the 8th of Phaestian, in the year 399 AF.