God of War

Ares wanders through the Middle East, 

Through the ruins of an elementary school. 

His hands are calloused and worn from combat. 

He picks up a child's burnt sock, 

Tiny and fragile in his hand. 

He thinks back to older times, 

Long ago, 

When soldiers were proud to die for their fellow men, 

And kings fought alongside them in battle, 

Charging forth into almost certain death, 

Unafraid of the reaper following quietly behind. 

War used to be honorable, Ares thinks, 

A mechanism for men to prove their worth to each other

And to the gods who watched over them in silent approval. 

Now, walking through this carnage and senseless destruction, 

He thinks about the innocents who did not deserve to die as they did. 

The god of war sinks to his knees, 

And silently weeps for those who were caught in his crossfire.