A poem for AoT...
Summary: The life of a Scout is thus...
Warning(s): mentions of death and blood.
Rating: T
Crowds cheering
Excited murmurs
Weary glances shoot about from corners of eyes
Tightening grips
Clambering hooves
Soldiers make their way outside the gates
Panicked gasps
Black flares
Men and women get torn apart by giant hands
Pained cries
Agonized screams
The Commander leads his men on with a blank face
Titans' roar
Blood splatters
Flares of all colors litter the blue sky
Muffled curses
Soiled trousers
Children turn into hardened soldiers in a span of hours
Empty hearts
Choked cries
Comrades fall like chess pieces on a checkered board
Whirring blades
Battle screams
Humanity's Strongest leads his Squad to victory
Scattered limbs
Severed heads
The battlefield is soaked in the blood of reluctant heroes
Horrific roars
Angry eyes
Humanity's Last Hope kills every titan in his sight
Silent sobs
Painted regret
The journey back to the walls is filled with remorse
Bright red
Pale skin
The Scouts will be out to battle again
Tears fall
Soldiers die
And on the Scouts shall ride
This is how I see a battlefield in AoT. Actually, this is how I see the Scouting Legion.