goldenquagsire

Symphony of War Dawn skies, bathed in the morningstar’s glow; Angels’ tears bless the new day. They will soon be stained crimson, And cleansed in hellfire. High above the clouds, where neither bird nor wyrm flies Two armadas ready themselves for zero hour. A chorus of silent prayers, But not every one will be fulfilled. After the quiet comes the din: “The enemy has been sighted! Call to arms, man the guns!” The overture to war. Metal meets flesh and gives birth to flames. Grapeshot, cannonfire and clashing sabres: The percussion are in full swing, Their performance is deafening. The men stand fast; they wi

The Sky Ironclad The first rays of sunlight; they shine on cold steel. In a pit, fresh from creation, it lays dormant. Like a baby in the womb, blind to the world, A shapeless form of metal and glass. People crawl over the mess like ants, Chaotic, yet purposeful. Today is the day of birth. Today, the dreams of men will be realised. It is midday. Tension in the air, yet no sound. One silent nod of the head signals the start. From silence comes din, But birth was never pleasant, nor quiet. For a moment, nothing. Then, juddering, mechanical groans: The pains of labour, And from the sound of it, a bad one. Slowly, the hulk begins