[Tyr Zalo Hawk]: 712.Poetry.Warlike Dreaming

Crashing through waves of violent gore
The blood like crimson snow
It clings to your skin, paler than before,
Dark splotches lets you know

Entrails hurled from their owner’s limp shell
Litt’ring the grass like bile mounds
A chorus of cries, like the damned trapped in hell,
You stand shivering at the sounds

Fatigue, like a demon, keeps pulling you lower
Your leg gives out at the knee
Buckling slowly, the world flipping o’er
The arc of the blade all you see

The jagged blade slips into your throat
Your screams now left for dead
All you hear now are the words that she wrote
Her poem the last thought in your head

© Tyr Hawkaluk (2004-Present)