by Erickson Almario
Published on: May 11, 2010
Topic:
Type: Poetry

The whisper of death creeps throughout the whistle of the cold icy blue air that looms over the battlefield.
Soldiers –at-arms preparing to take the fight to the enemy in hostile territory.
They know they will die with the certainty that the tip of an arrow or the blade of a sword will hurt far more than a slug in the chest.
They are warriors, mercenaries.
The death of one evil soul can save the souls of a thousand men, each an individual in his own right.
Nothing is true. Everything is permitted. The way to life is the path to death.
So it was said… from the mouth of a killer.

Peace is judged by the nobilities of conflict and conflict the end result of death.
-Unknown



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