In the morning the guns will go silent.
Sleep will bring remembrance:
soft caress of a gentle hand,
serene nights,
solace amidst warmth.
The war will go on until there is nothing:
soldiers staggering from bar to brothel
as the night grows darker and the moon dims.
You can smell fear and renunciation.
Doom.
Morning beckons
with a fragrance of blossoms beyond pleasure
amidst a city of hungering souls
seeking skies without menace,
daybreak without fear.
Soon we shall leave this sorrow,
abandoning these souls to suffer the aftermath.
And we shall look back upon it with horror,
smothered in regret at our own faithlessness.
Our betrayal.
