Haemorrhage of Hatred
The dead who crave not life, I know not why they lie there
floating. They lie devoid of thought, bereft of life and drown in sorrow.
Sometimes they scream as life is deprived of them. Life is no
dream and death holds no final end. We all must die.
Hacking away with the sword at the earth, at the mounds of soil,
I try to recover the dead but get naught for my toil. The corpses
lie around me in various states of decay and no matter how hard I
try I can't bring life to their day. Even by touch of the sword they
refuse to awaken. And I know they seek life not. And I know
they like to rot forever. Even their lives were of no worth if in
their eyes they hate the truth even if it sets them free. Now is not
the time to revive. My mind revolts at this revelation. How can it
be that they lie calmly in their graves, resisting life as it pulls at
their heart strings; their cold eyes ever rejecting the truth?
I run with naught in mind but to leave that hateful place behind. I
enter darkened earth where De-syr has waited for me from the
day of my birth. I cross the bridge of grace along a well worn
path to satiate my flesh within the one they call De-syr.
Sorrow, my contemplating. Loving hours passed, I spent my life
anticipating sorrow. Thy cold embracing felt like love back then
but now I know that I was tasting sorrow.
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