Gatling

This battle has ground on too long,
Our leaden provisions are loaded,
A thousand metal hailstones,
Placed carefully into our artifice of death,
Our own mouth of hell,

The power I have at hand is grimly palpable,
I need only turn this crank,
And hundreds of lives will end in gore,
Rotate sight and fire,
They told me there was honour in battle,

The order is given,
It’s us or them,
Rotate sight and fire,
Our engine of death rattles in rage,
Cutting down uniforms like chaff,

Despite the hellfire,
I feel cold,
There is no honour in this,
Warfare has become manufacture,
Rotate sight and fire.

Eastern Front

Under thundery skies of white,
Came the rumble of tracks,
And the boom of gunnery,
A boreal front is rent open,
An iron cross enclosing upon an eastern jugular,
Hammer and sickle on the backfoot,
Surrender was no option,
And so flesh was ground against iron,
The blitzkrieg was on,

Two flags spiral around each other in dispute,
Cities and fields become their shrapnel market,
Lives were the currency paid in full,
But both fate and snow had other ideas,
The winter came to its sons aid,
Freezing fuel and choking soldiers in grey,
Another weapon against the iron cross,
Like the little emperor before,
This evil could not weather the winterstorm.

Ancestors

Many have come before us,
Men and women and tales aplenty,
Losses and victories and expirations,
Voices fading as every moment passes,
Though we can no longer see them,
They exist within us,
Codices and tomes in our veins,
We are living archives,
With histories branded into our spirits,
As well as templates for the future,
And that is the key,
To be templates worth recreating,
Ancestors worth remembering.

Artilleryman

I’m a gunner,
The standard demands my service,
A red banner expects the same crimson in payment,
Ram and sponge and shot,
Me and my crew,
We are demons this day,
Preparing the very mouth of hell,
A grand battery of the kings fire,

The thunder at our command,
Iron swelling with brimstone,
Those before us see it as judgement,
What once was a rural spectacle before us,
Is now a depiction of Gehenna,
I care not,
So long as the pieces keep singing,
And those roses sprout on the horizon.

Forlorn Hope

Plated and iron-willed,
Zweihander in grip,
We are the first,
The forlorn hope,
The first of the army,
The first to charge,
The first to brave that barbed storm,
To climb those ladders,
To brave those battlements,
The first to kill,
The first to be slain,
We are the first,
The forlorn hope,
The first to die screaming,
The first to burn alive,
The first to be impaled,
The first to perish under arrows,
To be pierced,
To be slaughtered,
The first to be buried,
The first to be forgotten.

War Mire

I crawl,
I crawl because death looms,
Tracer fireworks and smoothbore orchestra above,
The air is a Russian roulette of lead,
To stand vertical is to welcome the reapers round,
Razor wire as spectators,
Bullet casings as applause,

Knees and elbows,
Along this dank trench,
Each inch ahead is a marathon,
The mud cossets me as a reliable guardian,
Enveloping me as I crawl panicked,
My uniform once regal,
Is now a butchers apron,

Knees and elbows ragged,
Each pound of the earth shakes forth more debris,
Fellow conscripts lie about as charnel meat,
Carved by arms dealer produce,
This ditch has become the grave of many,
Its mud surely pining to consume me too,
As readily as any artillery,

Knees and elbows bloodied,
Exhaustion grips me,
I crash beside a shredded standard,
I did not choose this war,
Have no ability to quell its fury,
But now I lay amidst its masterpiece,
Etched in grunge and gore and steel.

The Longhouse

The battle was won,
The dead collected,
And now it was time to revel,
To the longhouse,
The fire burned ochre and coral,
Roaring along with the cheerful ruckus,

The hall was a banquet of cheers and hurrahs,
The skalds sang long into the early hours,
Singing of the exploits of axes and swords both,
Mead ran like amber showers,
The scent of both pork and sweat frothed brashly,
And the sound was a human cacophony of joy,

The triumph of the day was diluted by the sombreness,
Like watered down ale,
The slain would not join them,
But they indulged all the same,
They knew their comrades revelled in Valhalla too,
And would join arms with them again one day.

War Wounds

The Earth strives to heal,
From the corruption of warfare,
Still wounded decades later,
Still polluted by the arsenic of empires,

From the minds of old men,
Did these scars across the land come,
Painted by bone shards and blood of the young,
Spread by the quills of artillery and lead,

Many souls died here,
Laid to rest in craters,
Mother Nature lies beside them in solidarity,
Mourning for the industrial slaughter,

And the planet still weeps,
Those tears of acid rain,
She hates those old men,
And endeavours to right their wrongs.

Bloodspiller

As this days sun grows coral,
The sacrifice is brought up,
To the apex of this temple,
Our golden pyramid,
This one shall suffice,

The sacred hymns are recited,
Drawing the scrutiny of the gods,
My obsidian blade is held in thirsty readiness,
The time is upon us,
Two small eyes grimace up,

‘Tetatzin…?’

The blade falls,
The vessel is pierced,
The pantheons wine is spilled,
Painting the glimmer of this place,
My people ring out in hysteria,

We become phrenetic in holy awe,
Aloft a warm youthful heart is held,
Hesitating to still beat,
Huitzilopochtli drink deep,
And be praised by this act.

Some writing music: Part 85

Hello there inmates!

I hope you’re all having a wonderful day! Oh, and a wonderful week of course. Mine has been quite nice to be honest. I’ve been able to spend plenty of time with Tash which is always a gift. I’ve been more than happy with my recent scribblings. I have been thinking I want to head back in to my more horror-esque works. I’ve leaned a bit too far from that favourite genre of mine in my opinion. What do you guys think?

So, I’m going to be showing all of you some new music today. You’re surely aware of my ways by now! Haha! I have a theme for my musical choices today and it’s one I feel like I have done in the non-too-distant past. I could be imagining it, but we’ll see. Maybe one you lot can let me know.

Todays musical theme is history! Oh yes, anyone who has read my work in the past knows that I have a soft spot for history, particularly when it comes to military history. History is an excellent subject for musical expression, both in subject matter and in stylistic methods. They sometimes use instruments you hear less often, such as instruments used in marching bands and the like. Orchestral stylings are also often used in artists work when imagining historical scenarios. I’m going to try and get a variety of artists as always, it can be difficult at times though!

So, join me as we delve into the musical minds of nostalgic artists the world over!

Sabaton – Fields Of Verdun
https://www.sabaton.net/

2Cellos – Thunderstruck
http://www.2cellos.com/

Iron Maiden – Run To The Hills
https://www.ironmaiden.com/

Neil Young – Cortez The Killer
https://neilyoungarchives.com/

Orchestral Manoeuvres In The Dark – Enola Gay
https://www.omd.uk.com/

And there we have it!

I had to include a Sabaton song in there, I just had to! So, I hope that you enjoy all of my choices this week and if you’re so inclined, go and give these artists some love. They all deserve it in my opinion. Let me know what you think of this weeks choices and maybe suggest a theme for next weeks writing music? That would be cool!

How about some Harlequin social media nonsense? The asylum has a page over on Facebook, and account on Instagram and an account on Twitter as well. Also, if you enjoy what I do here at the asylum, please consider supporting me over on the Ko-Fi page. Thank you for everything!

Until next week, have a very crazy day inmates!