The battle cry
pierced the sky;
the sky was an orange red
in the dusk, like the bloodshed
that would haunt
soldiers in nightmares, taunt
them of their baseness,
of their human weakness,
for greed of land
that would stain the sand
with blood, and bleach it
with bones; each
corpse a painful sight,
a reminder of a fight
in vain,
each bloodstain
exemplified what it cost,
of little gained and so much lost.