I have little time for words, for we have a campaign to wage.
My dearest, I fear you must do away with the champagne we saved...
Prologue: Dawn of War
I'm writing now with the hopes to convey...;
today all I've witnessed has been the atrocious display
of defeat, all our focus on the goal has diminished.
Like a sinking vessel, a simple hole and were finished.
Ode to Command
Gazing into the horizon...with the sun setting we oblige:
alive yet amazed, what with the blood letting and the collecting of demon hides.
My machete's stains serve to constantly remind me
of that blitz into the abyss. The defiance of Divine myth.
In the midst of defeat, within an inch of retreat
decide quickly to divide us, or keep the advantage with precision.
Glinting steel: our battle standards advancing our position.
And lift the veil, but conceal intentions to attack.
Your decision is our mission: keep our legacy intact!
Contain the enemy: be aware of the perimeter.
Your control over the tides, you're our scribe, you're our God...
you're alive as our parish and parishioner!
Ode to Soldier
Muse wielding battlements, anticipating savageness.
Feeling passion rip the fabric of our reasoning capacities.
There's little logic in a Soldier's day.
He responds to what controls his fate.
He will not be dominated by these legions slinging tragedy!
In moments we shall confront the Depths.
For all that's holy we shall punish Death!
We will not be stopped by hatred, we'll free our kindred from their shackling.
Count the war drum's rhythm, feel the pure thud driven
by our lust for the thrust of our swords in their guts!
Listen to the hush before the last drum's signal
on the final eighth we shall invade.
Attack from the shore to the hill with grace and valiant Blades.
Ode to Understanding
Another day with Reason marching, thinking of freedom largely,
and what possibly a notion of God could teach us.
A mythical regress, cyclically blind to peace, just
needs, wants and linking the Mind to genius, hardly
feasible truths breaking the membrane
of paradise, just sterilized creations of End Game.
Let's say, we finally reach our tenth pace
and rather than getting struck with canonry, it just rains.
I've guessed Grace in the past was the way to the Path
but the dualistic nature of that made me change with the fact
that life is simply the exchange of a shameless attack with hatred attached.
They took the ethics of greater ancients and painted them black...
Epilogue: The Last Days
I'm writing now with the hopes to express proof,
that life is just the patching of the holes in your vessel.
The tides of war divide the pure from their lives of peace,
but war exists between more than these rifts in society.