Poetry of the Damned
Copyright© 2026 by Oz Ozzie
Chapter 1: The Cast of the Die
Sing of the land the gods have blessed,
Of Livia, ancient, free;
No fairer realm beneath the sun,
No people great as we.
Our fathers raised her shining walls,
Our justice guards her gate;
And when her foes would lay her low,
Her sons rise tall and straight.
The mighty men of our great army
Stood fast in ranks to fight;
But where, and from whom, comes our hope
As the day turns into night?
We are the great ones, we the strong,
Who never lost before—
We swore to stare the foeman down,
We swore to end his war.
But why, then, all day long they fall?
The enemy press hard;
The cavalry stumbles, lances droop,
Spent soldiers drop their guard.
No food, no water, no relief,
The vultures wheel and climb;
And all men know, who feel the field,
That losing wants but time.
The captains quail, their hearts grow faint,
As the failing twilight bled;
The drums beat slow, and slower yet—
By dusk we would be dead.
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