Battlefield of Death

The shriek of the lone raven breaks the deathly silence As the fires on the battlefield smolder, filling the air with smoke The bodies of fallen soldiers rot where they lay And the vultures pick the flesh off of their bones Until all that is left are skeletons Crimson blossoms flourish with a surreal awkwardness Contrasting the hellish landscape on which they grow The blood of the fallen seeps into the ground And feeds the flowers And the blood laden roots grow into hellish vines Claiming vengeance for the deceased The field is never cleared of death And the stench of rotting flesh imbues the air Ever present are the souls of the fallen Lusting for revenge from the beings that executed them And Commanding the vile plants to kill Any soul unlucky enough to set foot On the Battlefield of death