The frogs speak to me in a secret language.
They are whispering laments
of unfulfilled destinies.
Sad tales of fallen Knights filled with regret,
unwilling to sleep.
Blood lies deep beneath our feet,
a silent testament to long forgotten pain.
I hear the anguish of mothers,
their sons’ bodies pierced and trampled.
Come home my elder children.
Our hearts cry out even now.
Midnight mists
pour across ancient battlefields,
the last breaths of a thousand chests.
The still, fetid air their only lasting artifact.
Sing to me now your solemn march.
Voices forever quenched, longing to be heard.
Rest. Rest now and take your peace.
The darkness will embrace you.
This is your home.
The frogs speak to me in a secret language.
I pause for a moment
and I listen.
They speak of torment
and I listen.
They recall suffering
and I remember.