Who Won?

Poem looking at a recent battlefield inhabited only by the dead.

Cratered, cracked, potted hollows,
Filth floating on dusk’s dank breath.
Vengeful claws had rent Earth’s bowels;
Her guts lay in awkward death.

Twisting, turning, tearful trenches
Wander the field as if lost.
Orphaned home of many tensions,
Now it shelters bodies tossed.

Smoldering, smoking, splintered cinder
Coat the men who know death’s name.
None alive remain to hinder
These lifeless shells drenched in flame.

Fretting, frowning, fearful faces
Mar every corpse where it lay.
Though peace is all each soul chases;
Peace was lost on strife’s first day.

Whispering, wisping, winding wind
Weeps and wails the recent past.
All is silent, for all have sinned;
Now all enjoy the final fast.