My eyes are heavy,
My soul is weak,
My body wants to sleep.
The piercing cold,
The rushing wind,
The sand beneath my feet.
Dry and deserted,
This land is the definition of desolate,
Wanting to eat my mind.
I am stranded here,
In this forgotten world,
Alone, now that all my kin have passed.
My skin peels at the touch,
My feet are blue with frost,
My jaw is clamped shut.
In this forgotten world,
Of deep, deep cold,
And I am the last of it's feast.
I cling to life,
Hanging by a thin thread of luck,
Wishing to see the sun again through the clouds.
The moon here is eternal,
And cold is the air,
It's icy bite gnawing at my heart.
My memory fades,
As does my strength,
And my will to get out has long gone.
Along with that last strand of hope,
That came my way,
Since the beginning, since I was lost.
All of my companions on this journey,
Have long passed,
And succumb to the cold sword of this forgotten world.
Soon I shall join them,
And become as cold as the ground,
And food for the wolves.
Soon not even my soul will live,
To pass beyond my body,
But it will never escape this place.
Help and hope don't come here often,
Only with poor stragglers left behind,
And even those lose sight where sight was never to be found.
My eyes close with wariness,
My body falls limp with weakness,
My heart stops at last.
In this forgotten world,
I am buried as part of the sand,
To be as forgotten as the ground itself.
I am one with this world.
YOU ARE READING
The Battle
PoetryTwo sides, Stuck in an eternal dance, To fight, to win, to live, to lose, to die. A dance not for the faint of heart, But for the bold and courageous. Both going for the heart, To take it out, and be the first to spill blood. For an eternity has th...
