To celebrate Remembrance Day (Armistice Day), I wrote a little poem about us remembering the poor souls that died and continue to fight in the old God Wars dungeon. I hope you enjoy it; it’s been a while since I’ve done this.

 

May we reconcile, for just a short while?

You owe it to them, you know.

As I tell you the tale of the soldiers that flailed

In the conflict that rages below.

I ask that you stand for those that pushed land

In a war that was fought long ago.

It was fought for so long, time had flowed on,

Even now, it’s still fought in the snow.

Now books of its lore spilled onto the floor.

As wrists of its authors got sore.

For years and an age, it filled quite a page:

The infamous Third Age God War.

Remember the men who were summoned back then,

One by one, enlisted by name.

They were given a sword and told to go north.

As they marched, they were one and the same.

—

So many beings all gathered together,

They battled for what they believed.

They fought and they died, and they rotted and lie,

Where barely a thing is achieved.

Four factions all gathered, a fifth one was shattered,

Men and women and between.

Creatures and beings from all different scenes,

A menagerie never before seen.

Within the white clouds, both swiftly and proud,

An aviansie did fly.

With an arrow’s retort, its song was cut short,

We had heard its final cry.

Below, the roar of a demonic boar,

Wailed as the broadaxes clashed.

Its heart was made tore, it thus felt no more,

And it burned away into ash.

In tears ran a man, his shield in his hand

As he dove to avenge his love,

With a fiery blast, he breathed his last,

His locket still clenched in his glove.

The front-lines amassed, a orc charged straight past

He yelled for his brothers to view.

At the end of a spear, he laughed and he jeered,

But alas, the pike had struck true.

After a while, the bodies did pile.

One couldn’t tell scholar from fool.

Feathers and hide both lay side by side

And blood mixed with ash in foul pools.

But worms in the soil cared not for their toil.

And no complaints come from the flame.

Stiff and inert, they return to the dirt,

And there, they’re all one and the same.

—

From dusk to twilight, they’d battle and fight,

And struggle to win their prize;

A blade without shield one only could wield

With combat seventy-five.

Once a great treasure, now merely a pleasure,

A trinket both bought and sold,

And even donated to people unrated

All bathed in glamorous gold.

But if you go forth and tell those souls north

Their prize is nought but a lie,

All words were forgot, and they’ll hear you not;

They lost all their will when they died.

All they know still is pain, death and kill,

And how to both deal and take.

Forever they’ll fight the dark, endless night

Of which they’ll never awake.

But there were no borders; they followed their orders,

Whose motives they dared not to question.

No matter how odd, they fought for their God,

A purpose was all they need mention.

The victors were scarred with their innocence charred,

The fallen were left with the blame.

When the battle was done, none of them won,

In the end, they’re all one and the same.

—

You’d think it was best that they finally get rest,

But a God’s will is never undone.

Despite stillness of heart, even death don’t depart.

Their spirits will rise til’ it’s won.

They shout, and they cry, and they raise their flags high,

Again and again, their ghosts slew

For nothing remains but anger and rage

And pain to will themselves through.

For upon being raised, a price had been paid,

Their purpose now solely to fight:

Memories were ripped and emotions were stripped,

And morals were cast to the blight.

Once facing their end, they stood up once again,

Regardless of devotion and answer.

They’ll search and they’ll delve, but won’t find themselves;

They’re now shadows of who they once were.

 

No more will they feel an apple’s appeal,

Nor the heat of the sun on their face

No more will they speak of kisses on cheek,

Nor the comfort of lover’s embrace.

They no longer saw joy nor the smile of a boy.

Nor the tiniest glee of a boon.

Even the slaves of a desert camp’s blaze

Would sometimes utter a tune.

No more will they know, to what their kids grow

Into generations ahead.

And no more will they mind their lives left behind

As they’re welcomed in droves by the dead.

To think and conceive, I cannot but grieve

All I can say’s; what a shame.

But so long as two Gods thought they were at odds,

They’ll forever fight one and the same.

—

Soldiers and knights, they were meant for the fight,

But so many were not at all ready.

From morning til night, they lived their lives right,

Though hard work, their jobs were run steady.

They were farmers of crops, worked food stands and shops

They were merchants and dealers and lords.

They were bankers and tailors and carters and sailors,

Who knew coins much better than swords.

They were sent to the front where they took all the shunt;

Each side wanted victory with haste.

Then beaten and gored, they thought of no more,

All that talent and skill put to waste.

Whole cities were drained, and those that remained:

Just women and children and elderly.

In the absence of heirs, the task became theirs

To rebuild society.

So remember, my friend, the soldiers and men,

The gambles and choices they’ve made.

They could have lived long and sung many a song,

But instead had to vanish and fade.

Remember the ones who lost all their sons,

And those who lost arms and legs.

And those who lay chained in mind-wrenching pain

To whom death only came if they begged.

Remember the gents who fell innocent,

And those who had slain a bunch.

Remember the brave who got blown away,

And the ones who became somethings’ lunch.

For they are the ones who fought for their lives

Who sacrificed all for the game.

Remember them all, for once death arrives,

As we lie, we’re all one and the same.