Iron lightning strikes, the bitter tease of blood on my lips I am a swordsman writing my poem. your blood is the ink and my sword is the pen
as i write on the field of war and death. I see the sun it peaks to the disparity of war. it can no longer gaze at us so it hides amongst clouds and corpses. its warmth has left me in the cold with only the blood of thine enemies to bring heat but my bones will never forget and will never forgive. and in that split second i find myself back in war with its pain and fear. my sword shaking the earth with every strike to **** thy enemy hearing the beating of the drums and screams of men.
Oh my God please help me hear my plea.
I know i come to you like a beggar in the street but hear me out just let me live, let me walk that thousand miles back home even as i freeze to my bones
but i am careless and of course you didn’t answer me because the pain has stopped but i’m still so cold...so very cold.
I lie there painted in red looking to my sky of sorrows, praise the sun, it just might be the last thing I see.....