As the sun spilled over the horizon,
And the day began to slowly bloom,
With dazzling colours painting the skyline,
The small town teetered on the edge of doom.

The ocean lapped lazily at the shore,
Birds flew calmly in the sky overhead,
But where sky fused with water, something more,
Began to emerge, get bigger: spread.

Until it almost blotted out the sun,
And the air was crowded with the sound of oars,
The voices of men, thirsty for some fun,
Longing for even a small taste of war.

Yet this wasn't a war, this was a massacre,
This place had never felt the wrath of battle,
They swept through the town without a challenger,
Ashes remained of what had once stood before.

Of a once bustling village, nothing remains,
But bones and ashes, not even a name.