Between Heaven and Hell

                 

 

A drawn line of battle is a heart-stopping thing.

 

An object of dynamic power kicking you in the gut

causing a man to not be able to swallow

burning the back of his throat

incapable of hating such massed, latent energy.

 

It fills you with awe.

 

Across the field, sun glinting off bared steel

glaring from flags and banners

doubtless in acknowledgement every weapon is prepared

to not simply kill

but maim, tear, dismember, disembowel, decapitate

in blood to a horse's bridle.

 

Better to die than be wounded and abandoned on the field.

 

No warrior speaks, there is no murmuring or cursing.

Absolute silence washes the field like a winter wind

 

Hundreds, thousands of human brains understand this view

is the most beautiful, horrible thing they will ever see.

For many, it is also the last.

 

They stand on the blade between heaven and hell

and cannot tell which is the best.

 

And they wait

for the command.