Broken Stone

Distant rock rises above worn feet
as they trudge a mountain pass.

Howls of the winter cold, winds,
shiver like the marching anticipation.

Peaks hide both rebel and foe,
And mark lines along the spine.

Beyond a river comes the roar,
Followed with cracks in grey sky,

Crumbling plains by the road,
Crowds of men out of water’s reach

caught between rubbled piles
and the taunting of the rains.

Hollow whistles echo on steep path,
broken stone and bodies at the side.

Distant rock rises above worn feet
as they trudge a mountain pass,

Onward to the ruins of an abbey,
and blisters, and bloodshed, and fast.

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