La bataille (The battle)

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A shuddering breath, he awoke in the mud
Eyes clouded with grit, mouth tasting of blood
Smoke all around him, near deaf from the din
Dazed, he arose, tangled up in dead men

Witless and lost as the world spun around
Gaze came to rest on a helm on the ground
Dented and split in some savage attack
Battle raged round! Memory came flooding back

Weeks of fast marches, long hours at drill
Knew chaos was coming, knew blood would be spilled
But under great hooves, amid sabers' bright flash
Un-blooded and green, the square had collapsed

One unhorsed rider, leg crudely askew
Now arose and advanced on the weaponless youth
Who stumbling back, tripped on some lifeless horse
But fell on a pistol, still clutched by a corpse

Desperate, he aimed, for the hammer was cocked
Praying the barrel still carried its shot
But though the flint sparked, the pan fizzled and died
And iron hands choked off the boy's frantic cry

Fighting back panic, hands clamped 'round his throat
Flailing, he dug for the knife in his coat
Grasping the hilt, new resolve rose within
The will to survive, to slay and to win

A gap in the cuirass, the blade plunged inside
The rider exhaled with a rattling sigh
Frothing blood poured with each laboring breath
And losing his grip, he slumped into death

He stands, as reborn, blade and clothes running red
As scavengers creep to the battlefield's edge
The armies withdraw, and among the deceased
A humble priest kneels, grants the fallen their peace

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