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War of Delusion
Chanting: Our dreams are in the fields!
Powered by sprouting egos, we marched.
No longer held to any cross
we climbed down and trumpeted our victory.
Softly though, with whetted cheeks
and loathsome grins, we whispered
that the war was not yet over
and the spoils would be naught but rusty words.
We bared our breasts of hopeless rage,
our long shadows trailing fearfully behind,
knowingly forecasting their future:
burial beneath the corpses of our pride.
Came the orders for the cowards:
Lay low the captains of our trust!
At long last we began the retreat,
covering the ground with rivers of broken morals.
Though in plain sight, we failed to see
the object of our imminent demise:
the terrible shield maiden of treachery
and her scornful hound of gluttony.
The battle was over as it had begun,
with the sad remnants of our honor
scampering gleefully into cages
constructed of our twisted truths.