A Macabre Battle

Loud battle cries resonated in the crimson skies,

Clouded with the dust of times, of valor and betrayal,

Of cowardice and unmatched intrepidity, all at once.

The once brown soils now soiled with hues of red, 

A piquant coppery iron odor littering its once beautiful smell,

As though it had rained blood and there was no petrichor, 

Just a copious amount of gore.

The kings still stood unfazed, unperturbed, the both of them

While they commanded yet another battalion to replace the dead,

The martyred soldiers whose souls had long left the realm of the mortals.

No one could really see victory in the vicinity; perhaps it would be

One of those pyrrhic wins.

The battle cries were still loud and shrill, 

Deafening all years with the earsplitting warcry of a macabre battle.