The Hand

Cold winds buffet
the land,

Sirens scream, aircraft
engines roar,

Weapons rattle, those
that fight form bands,

At home a mother sighs over
the son whose gone,

Lovers, friends soon
are no more,

Cries pierce the night
gods forgotten, now remembered,

I'm now a man and must
not cry,

Tell me again father
why I die,

I walk the plains of hell
broken, shattered,
my hand seeks peace but
finds only death...

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