the battle

Dark clouds hovering above
eyes of God welling up

the seemingly angry sky
looking down on its peasants

the gladiators above begin the jolt
bloodshed waiting to happen

drop by drop
blood brimming over the peasants' field

amidst the chaos, a peasant stands
downpour washes his filthy bearing

peasant heaved a deep breath
his eyes wandering, his lips quivering,
his bare feet cold as ice

heading towards shelter, he failed
his field barren, flushed by the battle above

peasant lies on his back
arms crossed over his chest

soft whispers, he began
talking to whose eyes were weeping

the final drop of blood
touched the peasant's face

the gladiators have ceased
the seemingly angry sky has left
eyes of God has cleared up
hovering dark clouds no more

the arena has emptied
the King has apparently arrived

yet the peasant still lays
curled up as a newborn
his eyes shut, his lips quivering
his bare feet still cold as ice

the field still reminiscent of ruins
nothing audible, except

the soft whispers from the peasant's mouth
talking to whose eyes now cleared up

"Save me for the battle isn't over..."