Poetry-Thing Thursday: Light-Walkers

Uniformity is,
conformity for,
a perilous pitiless,
beast in the night,
whom knows nothing of fright,
nor of those whom walk in the light,
and so hastens the collective goodnight.

And with it comes,
the armies of darkness;
humans mad with desire and fire.
Ruled by fears and told dangerously beautiful lies,
to fight and ultimately die,
for what they believe will allow them to rise,
but is, in fact, only cementing their demise.

The mire is thick,
a drug for mind-sick,
counting off lies,
as does the heart tick,
absent though it may seem,
it is never far,
‘specially for those,
with the deepest of scars.

As they change,
the darkness,
one must wonder:
what form of madness,
did they from,
reality, sunder?

A cold moon rises.
Blood bathes the blades.
Crimson and steel.
Both tepid, real.
Stained with light and dark blood alike.

By firelight,
camps and engines burn bright,
there is no denying the sight;
light and dark-walkers alike,
bleed red as kinfolk might.

As the blood glistens,
blends with dirt,
the charge ripples–
a ceasing wave.
For dark and light abound,
and so too doth red blood.

At last those whom walk in light,
joined by those whom walk in the night,
see the true enemies revealed.
And without their commanded armies,
they find death is real.