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by I Wolf Author IconMail Icon
Rated: E · Poetry · Dark · #1587621
Written to the thoughts of my darkness.
A rain falls upon the wastedland that is my home. It quenches the parched and burned land, revitalizing it with nourishment. As the embers fade away, and the pillars of smoke wither, I look upon the hell in which I have created. Broken homes, and death lay upon the streets, as serpents of crimson course the cracks of sidewalks and into the gutters. A trembling ensues as my head hangs low, tears falling from red rimmed eyes. I have failed, and allowed the destruction to occure. I've wasted yet another great creation to the ravages of the demons that follow. No scream is to be uttered from these lips this time. No sword will be held in my hand to cut and slash at the invaders of the shadows. No, no blood shall be shed again. Now I turn away from the dying fires and the death, striding away from the metropolis that once was, only to vanish with the sinking sun, ending the story that is my life. No more chapters.
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