Such Wars (Poetry)

The enemy is at the gate
the wolf pack prowls outside the door
the prayed-for cavalry is late
and dread is mounting more and more

There’s few who care and none to see
how small atrocities are done
as time moves on indifferently
for nothing’s new under the sun

The killer’s cold in his disguise
anonymous behind some desk
no conscience flickers in his eyes
no heart beats pure beneath his vest

And who will win and who will fall
is in the lap of fickle gods
for fairness features not at all
such wars are fought against the odds