The Night Whispered Death in His Ear

Chemical war
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And the night whispered death in his ear, and he was afraid…
Shell-shocked eyes staring across the smoking wasteland
Confusion, corrosion, and uncertainty the only things certain

Futile attempts to focus amidst the carnage and mayhem
His recollection of the battle vivid, angry, and almost fictional
Yet proven by the lifeless mechanical hulks littering the field

Terror anchoring him to his position of cover; scanning and waiting
Angry arcs of electrified color jump aimlessly from severed wiring
The ground wet with hydraulic fluid, molten steel, and blood

Shattered pieces of armored power suits surrendering energy to ground
Endless piles of blackened bones hidden under melted body armor
Weapons of war reduced to nothing more than hiding places

Deep trenches now filling with acidic puddles and fluorescent particulates
Smoky skies filling with poisonous gasses; stinking of heat and death
No shadows, no movement, lest the dying green and blue chemical flames

And without any guide or confidant, he stayed still, quiet, and afraid
Distant rumblings from somewhere in the darkness reminding
The battle rages on; never-ending artillery, sorties, and clanking armor

Yet here in this wasteland, sulfur emissions rise, infiltrating the skies
Until metallic-clad clouds erupt in angry bursts of balled lightning
Thundering a vengeful bellow, before belching torrents of acid rain

Fires hiss and raise their forked tongues, vaporizing the first to fall
Yet with an onslaught to dominance, the rain falls in volume and violence
As if the elements were making the final assault in cleansing waters

And the trenches filled like rivers, gathering the gore and disrupted earth
Chemical puddles diluted and diffused, oil slowly peeled from stone,
Bloody and broken bodies, soaked and slowly dislodged from the technology

Yet still he remained; for as the lands lie trapped in the midst of a storm
He felt strange as the changing winds gave passage to the toxic concoction
And he thought of the whisper and the terrible fear, until he heard no more…

thegypsy

Owner/Admin at The Gypsy Thread
As a hopeless romantic at heart, Ralph indulges in romantic poetry, but also allows his mind time to wonder across all subjects.A master of vocabulary and word-use, Ralph has a writing style that gives his works their own life, often giving his readers just enough information that they end up doing additional research on his subject matter.

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