Pulling my sword from its sheath,
it glistens in the sunlight.
It holds such beauty,
but carries such painful memories.
It could tell of all the battles,
all the blood its spilt.
A cold wind passes through me,
chilling me to the bone.
The whispers swirl in my mind,
the thoughts never to cease.
My mind is nothing but broken pieces of glass,
and my heart has burst from all the pain.
There is so much that I have done,
so much that I could do.
But how can someone like me,
help those that I've killed?
Every innocent face,
reminds me of them,
of how they looked right before I killed them.
They were innocent too,
they all had a life to live.
What do I have?
Nothing, I have nothing,
and can give nothing.
I slide my sword into its sheath,
I will fight no more.