Fallen down,
lost and grieving.

Golden flowers greet a lost soul,
"Broken be the child?"
It whispers.

Hand clutched to heart,
the rain begun.

Alone, lost, forgotten.

“By myself again.”

"My child,"
Gone the flower, stood a new face.
"Please do not shed tears."

Your friends await to greet you to this new place.

“**** or Be Killed” a familiar echo came through.

Forget them all you had a mission to see through.

Broken be the child,
a bloodied knife in hand.

"Gone are your friends."
The flower sang.

"They never stood a chance."