The gunshots echo off the empty walls
of the abandoned town,
and the team of three scavenges the ruins
for some sort of proof that survivors remain.
There are none, nothing but bloodshed and corpses
littering the pavement; in the distance, a child’s doll
spotted in drying blood.
Yet the drums keep beating.
The enemy closes in, blaring a sickening horn
to signify their arrival, their weapons fire aimless into
the crowd of innocents as soldiers defend and fall
until their dying breath. Even still, in those last moments,
guns raise and shoot, but the civilians drop lifelessly
around the soldiers, failure lingering on their final thought.
Yet the drums keep beating.
Politicians gather in a circle from far and wide,
their people drowning in a sea of red
while their leaders bicker and decide if there really is
a problem to be solved. The deaths of thousands
coat the leaders’ hands and won’t wash away,
for they are now Lady Macbeth.
Yet the drums keep beating.
Closing in, the enemies don’t stop even after
their presence becomes suffocating, but the victims are
united in their shared losses and their grief. They
will fight until their dying breath like those before them,
because if they do not, then what was that death for?
They will continue to move forward: hope for the future
amongst the desolate, lonely, and depressed.
Yet the drums keep beating,
and the innocents sing along with its song.