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[Ace Vaun Winhigher]

Hear the call
Of the mourning bells
Atop the stone pulpit
In the graveyard of man

Feel the breeze
Of the dead winds
Blowing dried leaves
Across the expanse of hells span

See the devastation
Of the folly of wars
Fought out of pride
Filled with the desire of greed

Smell the decay
Of the bodies laying
Draining of blood
That upon the birds of prey feed

Nay nothing so sweet
Nor life so beautiful
When evil marches forward
In man kinds own deceit.

[theirishsea]

Poe and Shakespearean echoes in this.

[emel]

did you intend to say man kinds two words?

[folkpoet]

To me, I feel this is one of your best! I love the descriptions you wrote here! Excellent!

[Ace Vaun Winhigher]

Not sure about the breadth of vision that I was going for in this poem. It's too "In your face" and str8 forward. My style is usually a little more hidden. But it's good in the sense of getting the point across.