The Men who were Marching
We tell the tales that few men have lived to tell and even fewer still will believe. We mourn for the men who have fallen, but respect those who got back up again. For they were the Men who were Marching...
Centuries ago, in a land dead to this day, there was said to be a man. A man so sure of his cause and his duties, he would start a war amongst once trusted men. A war that would change the lives of every generation to come, tainting them with a distinct veneer of blood.
Some said the cause of the man was politics. Others claimed that such things always come down to wealth or status. But to a few who still believe, it had always been clear that it was out of love. Be it love for our country, for its men or even for a woman, it did not matter. We believe love was all it took to start this war. A war that would outlive almost every generation it tainted.
For as long as we can remember we would march to the sound of the drums. The steady rhythm of its slow beat would will every man to battle, luring them to war and calling them to fight. It would sound early each day, to inspire us for what we already knew too well. An unnecessary gesture, but a welcome one.
This was ritual to the Marching Men. To stand fast and strong and strike down enemies with hearts too dark to beat. To do this till every man had fallen and to have made our names known as soon as the sun had set. To do what has always come naturally and not let our sacrifices be in vain.
Etched deep into our souls was the reason for us to rise at every dawn. And when the mind would break the spirit of the soul, it was there in our hearts and in the simple sound of the drums. The reason that to battle would always be the only way we would feel alive. The only life we would know and would want.
Of course everything had not always been this clear to the Warriors we now call ourselves. There were days where we had lost our ways and thought little of the drums. Where we were convinced this life was meant for no man and should be given to those abandoned. That we’d rather lose than fight.
However, befriending the foe and consorting with the devil had not been much easier than fighting them. They were just as convinced of this life as we are now. They knew just as well that this war was no longer for that one man with a cause, but for our truth, our love and our desire.
Now this war is the soul of our sins. And we have seen much death. Some deserved, some not. But always within the blurred boundaries of an abstract beauty.
One day, this war will end. The men will grow weary and forget why they try. Boys will have their childhoods and old men will have less and less stories to tell. But the Men who were Marching will always be a symbol of strength amongst the people who pretend to understand what it was. Pretend to know that we had to kill just to get rest.
Through all of this the drums will always beat to the rhythm of the hearts who feel the urge we give into every day. Will always inspire and always convince. This was a life chosen by a million men, and judged by a million more. But that could not stop the drums of a million marching men.
As dust before the wind, our tales will fade and no men will believe. We will stop mourning for men we cannot remember and only vaguely respect those that rose and rose again. Until the drums sound back up again, and we become the Men who were Marching...
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