The Battle of Jungle Rock

The Battle of Jungle Rock

They came at dusk, no warning cry

just drums that thudded low and dry

the trees grew still, the sky turned black

and every creature held its track

A jagged ridge, the jungle’s spine

where moss grew thick on twisted vine

they called it Jungle Rock by name

a place where no one came for fame

The old ones spoke in hushed regret

of warriors lost and scores unmet

a hundred fights, no victor known

just bones that sank in root and stone

Steel met stone with broken grace

each scar carved deep in silence’s face

no banners waved, no horns were blown

they fought for things they’d never own

No right or wrong, no higher call

just blood that painted bark and wall

the vines were ropes, the mud was graves

the jungle kept what none could save

One cried out, then none again

his body fed the creeping rain

and somewhere in the tallest tree

a raven watched, too cold to flee

At dawn the smoke refused to lift

the soil cracked wide, the rocks did shift

and Jungle Rock stood one more night

still soaked in blood, still far from right

They never named the ones who fell

no victor’s tale, no song to tell

just whispers where the shadows bend

and Jungle Rock that knows no end

The roots grow thick where they once stood

the jungle drinks what once was good

and in the dark the echoes cling

to every rusted blade and ring

No path is marked, no graves remain

the moss has wiped away their names

but still, at dusk, the drumming starts

like fever buried in the heart