Poem – The Warrior One

The gentle wind blows away the blood of my face
A battle that never ends, tears that never dry
Gently walking over the field of stained flowers
Looking up to the sky, even the sky cries
Even the blue and sunny sky is in pain
And it rains, oh god it rains down on me
Washing away the last drop of blood off of me
I can hear the wolves sing, they howl
The crows fly above me and they watch
They watch me closely
As if I am the enemy, as if I am the only one
The fallen, the alive and the wounded
They all stare at me,
As I created my own tragedy.

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