Poetry

What Remains Of War

After the hard-fought battle, a war cry sounded into the moonless night while fires burned around me. I looked up into that starlit oblivion with bloodshot eyes as the weight finally left my shoulders. It was done. We prevailed. At long last, I could rest. As my sword slipped from my ragged fingers, my legs gave out and I was no more.

© Sarah Doughty

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51 thoughts on “What Remains Of War”

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