“The sky is clear again,”

Said the victor, eyes fixed on the horizon.

He did not dare to look down.

The earth had turned red.

“Long live the emperor,”

The soldiers roared.

But their triumph thinned in the wind,

Drowned by an old woman’s cry

Over a body that would not rise.

“We have won. The king has surrendered.”

The decree unfurled in gold.

Another border erased.

Another seal pressed warm into wax.

The people were never the enemy.

Nor was the king.

They only crossed invisible lines,

lines drawn by pride and power.

Homes burned on both sides.

His banners flew higher.

They did not choose this war.

He chose not to care.

It happened before; it’ll happen again.

The board is set.

Kings advance, collide, and are taken.

Pawns fall without a name.

“What a victory,” he thought.

If only he could say it to their faces.

He climbed into his wagon.

The wind did not cheer the victor.

It whispered softer.

Loser.