A/N: More mediocre poetry yay. Another Fallout one, don't know why- the entire game idea scares me to death but I love the characters and game story too much to not like it. -shrug-
In ablaze of grazing black fire,
Condensed into dots of hardened steel,
A whisper sounds in your left ear,
And teaches you the way to feel.
Quite suddenly, there's red on the floor.
Who spilt it? Is it yours? No one can tell.
The warring, the "hero"...there's no way to really know anymore.
And all of the innocents watch as the world descends into a second hell.
Was it really justice and revenge that lead you on?
Or was it something else, something bigger?
Whatever it is, you keep moving, dawn after dawn,
And you won't rest until you reach the neon city- at least that's what you figure.
Each step brings danger and hope,
Light and dark, good and bad.
As the sun rises and you go back to your constant lope,
The wastelands leave a sting and a bite that itches and makes you just a little bit mad.
It's a tug of war over a life source,
A gray area of politics and careful navigation,
Every day it can only get worse,
As a seemingly well meaning courier and opposing enemies cause persistent aggravation.
What are your true colors, wanderer, under the Western spirit?
Red for the color of anger and revenge, black for the color of a dead soul?
Listen closely and you'll hear it-
The cries that follow the path of your goal.
You are not good.
But you are not evil.
Just like the war and water and the unknown face under your hood,
You are simply a product of the sameness that has led to the repeating upheavals.
A/N: I apologize if this sucks. I am a novelist by heart, not a poet. I will attempt my best when trying to write poetry though so yes. Any reviews about how to improve my poetry skills would be really great! But I mean only if you want to leave them. Either way's fine.
Anyway, thank you for reading this silly thing.
