Born again to violence,
and to violence drawn.
Blood has it's own sound
when it hits the ground.
A red rain that cannot be copied.
A warm spray that you will never forget.

The screams of the dying are impossible to ignore.
They cut through nerves like a dull knife through leather.
The dreams are all you take home.
Family,
friends,
lovers...
I have watched them all die.
I held my brothers head in my lap as he died...
cries to his mother un answered....

Creator...
how
will I
go?

If you [Log In] as a member you can discuss this work with others