Behind the pile that now smokes.
His torn tunic showed bloody biceps,
His eyed reddened like a fire stoked.
His tears ground a trough
On hollow cheeks withered and sunken,
His neck thick and rough,
His once sturdy legs weak and broken.
From the field of fierce battle
He wore scars on both body and soul.
His pace slowed to a turtle’s
When he saw his village pillaged by trolls.
His kin has become a rabble,
His battered peace a red-cap thief stole.
Written by: Chileh Pedro
Edited by: Kukogho Iruesiri Samson
I am a member of the WRR editorial team.