They watch the battle with a cold stare,

Ignoring the all the battleships' glare.

The Anatoray and Disith fight,

And the Guild takes their flight.

One battle, many places,

They all are little more than chess pieces.

The Maestro sees them as that,

All of them have musketeers (with hats).

Some live, many die,

A lot discontinue to fly.

The Maestro doesn't care though,

To her, they may as well all be toys to throw.

The hourglass spins,

The Guild is within.

They send their stars of death to end the bloodshed,

And no more is said.

-A poem by Scout29