To the victor go the spoils,
or so the stories say.
But what exactly are these spoils?
Or…..trophies – if I may.
 
They are the rotting bones of long lost corpses-
Trapped forever in a cloud
Of musty men and horses
Their swords and sabers singing loud.
 
They are the souls of unknown soldiers-
Voices lost among the crowd.
Though battle worn and bloody,
They’re standing tall with heads held proud.
 
So I find myself asking –
How can the victor get the spoils?
When they are the hands of fate
Cutting loose your mortal coils.