Submitted for the YC120 Writing Contest.
Oh you endless capsuleers
Who deal in fire and blood and fear
Look at the storm, we must defend.
The storm will mark our grisly end.
Let not the sound of battle seed doubt.
War becomes us, even without
The blood and steel and weapons of old.
We are immortal. So we must hold.
On they come, they blot out the light.
And finally an ends in sight.
Yet more pour in, the ancient force.
Like water poured from the source.
The last round fires, we are ready to drown.
But the open gate comes crashing down.
Letting death come forth no more.
And so, for a moment, we’ve won the war.