Descent
"The
rain is good, it washes all the blood away." — Bors
Silent,
silent as the grave
The
field lies blanketed in dreams
Cut
short as quickly as the blade flew
They
scream in silence
Accusing,
blaming, all around me
Lying
worthless and wasted as if only a story
Pain
rushes back to me
As
I see a friend, now part of the silence
One
of the crowd, although he never was
I
reach to close his eyes,
His
head rolls away and I chase it
Blood
stains my hands as I return it to him
Slipping
in his blood,
Silent
noise closes in around,
I
feel left out, I should join them
Covering
my ears,
I
stumble away screaming,
Running
from the madness, praying for rain.