Today I put down the pen
And raised my sword,
To charge down a path forlorn.
Past a river of scorn
That lies in the shade of
Humanity torn.

Branches that weep
And overhang this road,
Stand sentinel, skeletal and cold.
They whisper to us yet we shan't be told.
Now far gone from all moral code.

There are no good intentions
Once cursed by interventionist actions.
You sir shall ******* steel,
Eat well, for tomorrow you will
Dine on your final meal.

The trail of treachery is long,
And shall last till all bitterness is gone.
All that now remains
Is a feeling to try explain.
The thought that lies dormant in my head;
What's done is done,
No good can come from the dead.

With a sigh,
I put down my sword.
And withdraw my pen once more.