I look across a once Green field.
I see death, destruction.
Browned, fire swept, Blood churned into mud, Giving the field an Dusty,
red appearance.
Good beasts died here.
By the score.
Good beast's mangled Bodies mixed Indiscriminately with the bad.
Why does it take death to unite the two half's?
Why,
in the mists of war,
do'se one beast live,
an another die?
Is there a reason to live after such horror?
Will we ever recover?
As I watch,
The sun rises,
Good beast and bad,
There is no difference.
The difference has gone.
We will never recover from what happened here, But life do's go on.