The Fight
You shout you hate me, I ask why. You look at me angrily then break down and cry. I try to comfort you. I want to understand if your words are true. You look at me and stand. Then draw your sword and charge. I parry away in pain, the wound growing large, the blood flowing in the rain. We exchange blows, swords in hand. With blood the color of a rose, showing on the land. The finishing thrust leaves both gasping for air. A broken trust, not easy to repair. We fall to the ground and look at eachother. I hear a sound, "Im sorry my lover." Pushed past the rim, we try to stand. I whisper to him, "Dont worry, I understand."
kait_kalena · Thu May 17, 2007 @ 12:43am · 2 Comments |