Untitled Sestina

My desperate, first, and only attempt at a sestina...

I
On the day it began, the sky was black
And the sky rumbled with thunder like guns
As back roads and ravines were filled with men
Preparing to fight and defend the lives
Of the villagers, women and children who cried
On that day, when drums became tools of war.

II
At dawn they marched to the field where the war
Would be fought, the snow swiftly crushed and black.
To the beat of the drums, they sounded the cry.
The general said, as they loaded their guns,
"Severance of conscience may save our lives
But never forget: you are all good men."

III
The battlefield swarmed with thousands of men.
The wounded, on carts, were drawn to a war
Of their own: an intimate fight for their lives.
The ground, once white, was now bloodied and black,
The air resonated with barking guns
And language was buried amidst harsh cries.

IV
With valour, they renewed their battle cry
At the general's order: "Hold strong, good men!"
The infantry loaded and primed their guns
But the field could not contain such a war
And death was found in houses painted black
Wherein those left behind had lost their lives.

V
The lingering wounds of the few who lived
Challenge yesterday's denials with a cry.
For years, the village was clothed all in black
For who could replace such brave and bold men?
Decades of work were undone by the war
And the only victors were those who made guns.

VI
Today we still hear the call of the guns
In the fields and the towns where history lives.
Where valleys still echo with drums at war,
Those who listen will hear the battle cry
And will stand in the presence of our brave men
Who fought on that day when the sky was black.

–
When black guns sound like the hammer of Thor,
Consider the men who gave their lives before
And cry, cry for the victims of war.