Disclaimer: nothing is owned. 'Cept the poem.
From Zak's view. Please enjoy.
Screams
Hear the screams of dying children
Born to a world of evil and sin
Hidden beyond the eyes of men
To taste the wrath of their dark kin
Helpless, unarmed, unable to grasp
The concept of why their deaths must be
All ends with a grating rasp
Of a sword bearing death's finalty.
Hear the cries of bleeding children
Lying dead and cold upon the floor
A shattered hope of what could have been
Their screams echo a telepathic roar
That refuses to leave your mind
But chases you wherever you tread
Always present, ever there behind
A stain on a sword forever shining red.
Hear the shrieks of frightened children
Having seen the merciless eyes of their killer
Who wields a shining sword above when
A swift thrust ends the dreams of t he willer
Theirdeaths for gain of empty power -
Power that will wane and fade and slowly die
Perhaps within the confines of the hour
Of the patient darkness so near by.
Hear the gasps of desperate children
Left to lie cold in the hot ash
Strike of sword falling not as often
As a High Priestess's stinging lash
Of anger upon a child's cringing body
That now lies still and cold as death
Burn the escape passage, toss away the key
In a futile gasp that serves as a child's last breath
Hear the ghostly pleas of dead children
Slain upon the swords of their dark kin
To appease the ever-clutching spider's den
Of dark lips bared in a feral grin
That you see as you close your eyes
Hearing the ghosts of little children's screams
Haunting you forever as you hide away behind the lies
And hear their echoes in your darkest dreams.
Well . . .
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Danke!