Set aflame by anger and irritation,
They ride the winds of rage.
No matter the distance,
No matter their size,
Their sharp steel-pointed tips
Pierce through the thickest shields.
We scurry for cover, digging
Holes to hide, seeking
Refuge and sanctuary, believin
We are doing the right thing.
Some stand and fight and get
Struck down.
Some courageously surge forward
And flee in terror.
Some leave to fight another day.
And a few remain.
Banding together to deter the
Ferocious crowd approaching
With lust for revenge
Their eyes glint with malice
Their heels pummel the ground
With anger.
Every time we take one down,
Ten more rise behind him.
And just as the herd of dementors
Draws near
The sun sets and darkness falls.
And we take a merciful rest for the night.
Where fighting takes a stop
And we count the trickle of survivors
And bury the dead and fallen.
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