Our war was a great harvest.
We cut a swath across the landscape, cleaving the skin of the earth like God on a roto-tiller, mulching the corpses of our Enemies for fertilizer, preparing the land for a spring massacre.
Plague and famine spread like dandelion spores,
pollenating the countryside.
Mustard gas blanketed the hills in a morning mist.
Napalm rained down like rice thrown at a wedding,
melting the faces of the bride and groom.
I was the Best Man with hotly lit flamethrower in hand.