Ferocity Lost

Their ferocity mirrored our own. Man for man, pound for pound, we tore into each other with a reckless abandon balanced only by the immovability of both. Stalemate.

Like deadlocked chess pieces all we had fought for had achieved nothing. Nothing! 

Was this war at its worse were armies died without purpose? Or was that the purpose of war itself, to serve no purpose other than death? And for what? A field of lost flowers. 

I walked away. 

Sometimes their shouts of coward haunted me. Mostly not. It takes a braver man to see sense in the senseless than a fool to expound it. 

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