Phil Roberts

THE BATTLEFIELD

I am 64 and loves cats, rock music, and horror fiction and poetry






The battlefield appears
Just after each midnight,
Ghostly warriors warring again
Where they used to fight.

Knights in rusted armour
Or covered in chainmail,
Fighting till the end of time
Determined never to quail.

Reliving ancient conflicts
Where they used to battle,
Fighting throughout space and time
To the call of the death rattle.

On the field not far from Hell
Long-dead soldiers engage in war,
An outpost near the netherworld
On plains once soaked in gore.

A battleground now overgrown
Where yester-wars were waged,
Many thousands died back then
And most stayed in their graves.

But a few rise up each night
To fight old conflicts once again,
Swords and lances loudly crash
In the war of Once-Were Men.

Nightly various old campaigns
Are repeated until daylight,
Many thousands die once more
Upon this torrid night.

Ancient confrontations are refought
Until the very end of days,
Many thousand re-die each night
Before returning to their graves.

THE END
© Copyright 2021 Philip Roberts
Melbourne, Victoria, Australia

© Poetry.com