Ego

Blood bursted.
Men fell down to the red mud.
Shields were shattered.
Fires were everywhere, 
Filled with noise of agony and calls of death.
Everyone was fighting for their city,
Freedom from the river.

"Chester!" a soldier cried out.
"No retreat," he swayed his sword and cut
The head of his opponent,
"We'll fight to death for the City of Chester!"

Second meant death.
In a minute, mortality excessed
The number of your fingers.
That aroma of blood painted the Cheshire, England in AD 79.

Chester, the preserved walled city in the England,
Castrum, an army camp, a fort, a Deva of Romans.
Swordfights, crossbow, head to heart, blood to rum,
A tug-of-war of Welsh and Saxons kingdom.

"People inside that city
were brave and strong,"
the mother squinted and tickled her baby,
"You'll grow like those soldiers,
Be prepared to step out from your comfort zone,
To travel  the outside,
To join the battlefield
where people roam and fight,
Blood for life,
Kill to live,
Camouflage to survive,
May find it hard,
but every day here is war"
the three-year old baby was lifted by his mother,
"You are Chester, the good soldier."