Here in this lime lined, green field
A battle is to be fought without mercy, without yield.
Two platoons of a baker’s dozen each.
Fighting one another for glory and honor in which they reach.
Four judges are assigned to observe this fight
Each knowing what is foul and what is right
One army, nine in total, enters the scene, the other four are on relieve.
A single soldier of the opposing force arrives hold a sword ready to cleave.
The sniper on a mound a distance away gets ready to fire.
Three bullets are shot off, that soldier tries to repel, but his movements are too slow as
if he were pulling a tire.
The head judge tells the man to leave and another man comes up ready to strike.
Holding his sword in both hands as if it were a pike.
But like the first man, he was unsuccessful.
A different man comes ready to charge, but he too fell short of resourceful.
The platoons swap places
The other squad’s opening man came from inside a cave and all the animals howled until red
was the color of their faces.
Similar to their enemy, they too failed to advance.
This continued for a while until Hades started to decline, as the local army was trying to
make a strong stance.
Its last fighter, a weak little kid, took up his heavy saber and approached the enemies home
base, praying to God while looking up at the sky.
The first shot is released and the kid swings, that iron ball was repelled and soared high.
All of the stationed enemy platoon ran to stop it, but is could fly.
It flew over the barricade and all the beasts wailed, that man hit each supply station and
made it back safely home.
The adjudicators called the battle over, the local army won and that award they received made
of gold not chrome.
Forever in that great green field, stories of the past still remain
But these stories for the future will never wane.
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