It had always been a thing for him
Since he completed his first mission.
The man appeared in front of him
In the dead of the night
When all was quiet and dark
In the bitter cold of his room.
He stood there - unmoving
His chest had no rhythm,
The light absent from his eyes.
The man's silent gaze
Froze his heart to still
Almost unmoving, like him.
He noticed a dark color
Glimmering under the moonlight
Seeping into the man's clothes.
He remembered - how can he forget?
The man bore that morning's marks
A gash along his bruised neck
His own signature for the day
"Are you here for me?"
The reply was as silent as the night.
YOU ARE READING
Musings
PoetryA book encompassing my brain. Filled with poems, sketch stories and everything in between.
