A Cynical World
Bound by blood not our own
An alliance built around the deaths
Of those who hadn't earned it.
We are the ones in black
With hearts to match.
We try to trace this scarlet line
That bleeds the world dry
Through the earth
Through the trees
And into a blinding sky.
Searching for nonexistent answers.
"Who am I?" is our query
And the response is mere infinity.
We are knights.
We are killers.
We are a shield.
We are the knife
That bleeds the world dry.
Even day grows dim without the song
That lives in the hearts of men.
Within every home that sweet chorus sounds.
This house must not be a home.
Where is our melody?
Voices hoarse from drowning tears
Produce no sweet song
No words of comfort
Simply the silence
That bleeds the world dry
We wake each day into a dead world
Aimless, and without certainty
There is no power to help or to hurt
After the world has bled dry.
Author's Notes. I've never written a fan-poem before, so I'm sure there's plenty of room for improvement. Please don't hesitate to drop a line, especially if you've got some constructive criticism. Poetry is my weak point when it comes to writing, no matter what the genre or category.