Empty Words

The emerald grass and the flower bed , Were now coloured all shades of red, And mud did mingle with the dead . Amongst , them I alone sat grieving , Not for the dead, but for the living , For all those with a heart for feeling . For those with emotion , tend to loose it , And always tend to their baser instinct , And men of honour are like false gods, Only to disappear when the time calls. I too was filled with honour , And had a noble mettle, After the war ended and dust settled, I realize the futility of these words, For these are more dangerous that sharpest swords.