Stained White Plums
The scent of white plums, pale skin,
raven black hair and hot tears
surrounds my senses, drowning them.
A trail of white snow, footprints
marring the pristine landscape.
Beyond it lay whom I would
protect. My heart is torn, I
who had reaved open your own,
tearing it asunder, not
knowing whose blood I had
spilled upon uncaring streets.
I had killed your happiness,
and sent you to the abyss
of anguish. Thunder rips all
around me, as I fight on,
mindlessly, one step by one.
How can I atone for my
sins, for they are too many?
Lightning flashes in my eyes,
yet I take another step,
and another. One more in
my path, and your salvation.
Yet, I fight and wield my blade,
and therein I find solace.
My answer, to my sins. For
you, I shall die, that you live.
I give my life to this strike,
I feel warmth of blood, I smile.
My vision clears, my smile fades.
You fall, my blade is your death
On a day of stained white plums.