A pool of blood is not worthy, nay my own or thousands shed.
A life I have lost forever, in the blink of fleeting dread.
My words can not make it better and my actions will to cease.

How will a lily ever be just a flower, and not a reminder of You?
How can Your voice ring as any other, not generating a sad monsoon?

When I see You in the village, can I fight away the tears.
In everything I'll remember You, and those times I shall hold Dear.
How can a man move onward, when his whole life was the past?
Can I ever peer into the waters, with a monster reflecting back?

I suppose with aging scars all fade, and so this one will to.
Yet this day it hurts far to much, for me to lick the wounds.

~ Sklaer Greythorne


Penned by my hand on the 12th of Lupar, in the year 419 AF.