The night was thick, the air was fire,


    the flares lit up the sky,


    And through the chaff, the shadows swarmed,


    where none had deigned to die.


    The rotor’s thrum, a reaper’s hum,


    it pulsed against my chest,


    A heartbeat made of steel and war,


    that never let me rest.


    The crack of rounds, the tracer’s path,


    This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.


    they carved the dark in two,


    And somewhere past the screaming winds,


    a call came cutting through.


    "Bird inbound, hold your ground,"


    but ground was soaked in red,


    And through the scope, I saw the ghosts—


    the ones already dead.


    The night stretched long, the blades still spun,


    the radio droned on,


    And though the sun would rise again,


    the war was never gone.


    For silence is a fleeting thing,


    but ghosts know where I lay—


    The rotor’s beat still shakes my bones,


    though war is far away.