Waves and waves of unbroken grass
Tumbling across the horizon,
Kissing the soil knee-high, and
Bending faintly under the will of a northern breeze.
 
Above the luscious grass, the sky stands tall.
In its magnificence lies the wisdom of nature.
Yet in its wisdom it shows no joy,
For a brief lining of aged clouds smother the blue.
Handful of cool, free flurries rush silently by,
And in their acceptance of the hopeless,
Their eyes open their fences, scarcely dampening the soil.
Though a few rays of hope doth pierce the grey,
Sacrificing whatever light they bring to the bleak,
Their desperate plead remains unheard, unfelt, untold.
 
For turn west, and discover, standing upon the oval land
A hundred-dozen men,
Gazing lustfully towards the east.
Coiling with iron plates of red and white,
While silver cloth with writhing fiercy crosses wrap the air above them.
 
Veering east, beyond a gathering of bushes
Lies five-dozen warriors kneeling upon the ground,
Chanting sacred lyrics of their unknown past.
As their voices unite, they stand, eyes closed,
And step westwards.
One breath, one heartbeat.
As they gaze silently towards the hands of death,
With hushed hatred rising beyond their numbers.
Cased in grey they stand side by side,
Tall and proud of its perfect dullness.
With matching colours do their heads ride above their necks,
Once shaved 'til a slither of grey doth remain.
 
With deafening battlecries the charge begins.
Upon their horses the crimson fiends rush down the hill,
Directing their frenzied rides at the warriors, claiming each one's kill.
Squirming blades and swirling axes shine with
Vibrant auras of death, lit by desire for blood and bones.
 
No hope; no regret.
No vengeance; no conquest.
 
It is done; it is said.
For each man's death rises no ghost.
Claim the body, claim the heart.
They could never claim the soul.
 
For those were the last of the Warriors of Monks,
Knowing their fate, making one final stand,
Not for victory, only for justice.
May their spirits rest in this cursed realm no longer.
 
May you beseech the heavens for their long-desired revenge.
May your hands give birth to eternal retribution.
May you,  
 
Yes, you,
 
Declare it so.
 
 
"It has Just Begun" By Linzhou Fang (Ft: Auais, Lwe.)