Battle Worn

My feet slip on the ground,
muddied by the blood of friend and foe.
My armor is dented and damaged,
and my helmet is long gone.
Sweat stings my eyes,
and a scene of gore and horror fills my vision.
I drag my sword behind me,
its blade is dull and covered in blood.
My ears ache painfully,
from the cries of wounded and metal clashing.
Arrows and missiles soar by,
hitting in front of and behind me.
Scent assaults my nose,
with the smell of blood, death, and decay.
My friends lay around me,
wounded and covered in gore.
My throat is on fire,
from thirst and yelling battle cries.
Blood and dirt mingle in my mouth,
the coppery liquid is mine but also not mine.
My mind reminds me I must continue on,
and ignore the horror I feel at the gore all around.
The commander is dead,
but the generals keep making us charge.
My heart pleads for the battle to end,
to see my spouse and children again.
I fear I may never leave this battlefield,
I'm terrified that I will.

---

Author unknown though the poem has been around for centuries. Some suspect it was first written back before the fall of the Braris Empire while others think it was written when King Gautier Oweyn's conquest was underway others still think it was written by someone in either The Golden Circle or Iron Company.