Segregate

Opaque, the light does not shine here,
The liquid gold of a crimean fear,
As the wives moan their single loss,
The raging sea deemed fit to pause,

Froth gathered at the edge of the cloud,
And yet the soldier marched on proud,
Endless armies lost and forgotten,
The fruits of their labour lay rotten,

Hark, the ashen cry to end all others,
The death knell of two distant brothers,
The spear sing their rhythm in tune,
While blackened hearts doth not honour exhume,

Enter the realm of the lost beat,
Aspiring hands that melt in the heat,
The feet grow weary of this toil,
As what began now returns to soil...