The Loneliness of Exile

The stories down below are much better. Skip this part if you want. ;-)


The crash of cannons blared
The colors streamed and pennants snapped
And a bolt of bonny blue was tossed upon the wind
As these proud few, these brave and doomed
Men advanced through the maelstrom
Of angry metal bees darting overhead
Impale themselves in flesh to end their flight
While the grape rakes row on row of dead

Still they marched onward
And they raised a ragged cheer
As the shot poured through their ranks
And the canister fell near
The gods of war they raised a toast
And took comfort in their wine
Whilst mothers cried into their cups
They drank the salty brine

And in the loneliness of exile
With my sorrows pass the time
I'll raise my glass to absent friends
And walk that field a final time

Some bad poetry for y'all this time around. This piece is about an officer in the War of Northern Aggression who has lost his regiment and it is very much a work in progress, so expect it to change over time. Comments and/or suggestions, as always, are appreciated.