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Cuddled through a cold womb he was,

pitch black and without sunshine rays.

Hell patiently awaiting him on blood spilled soil,

a noble grief stirred heart always ready to die.

In sinister systematisation

submission is golden as an

apprentice to violence,

slaughter and bloodshed.

He was like an object

that is being processed,

a force-fed destructor

ready for abomination.

The vast solitude in him

witnessed it all, those self afflicting

eyes and their fear painted faces.

Made out of utter discipline,

failure unacceptable.

Hosts to oblivion exploring

the darkest of places,

stench of rotten flesh

breathing down his neck.

Every day seemed like an endless night,

when would he ever wake from this void?

No other voice than his own will ever tell

what was real and where he had been,

what he had done.

Did you bleed for the cause

like the rest of his men,

did you capture the euphoria?

How it was like to kill such a

necromantic force behind it all.

They sure did battle till the end!

But when came all the glory and who got

spared to carry his body just pure death

and too profound to be shared.

Was it all a fabricated vision in his

memory to serve the wastelands

of insanity at the front.

Life forever lost its innocence,

never to see the light of day again.

He pondered his last few steps into the

realms of death with his hands bloodstained.

Courage and consistency,

bravery and valor, honor and pride

for what was it all worth?

Courage and consistency,

bravery and valor, honor and pride

for what was it all worth?