I cried in fear of the morrow.
Choking on the stench of death…
Good men, bad men… dead men,
They were all the same.
Lifeless,
Shameless,
No longer guilty for all they would be guilty for.
No longer tired of pain,
Or in search of a lost dream that would now…
Never be found.
Alone on the battlefield…
Their blood no longer gushing from open wounds.
Their severed limbs now lifeless… and still.
With eyes that no longer smiled…
Or saw…
The carnage before them.
I cried in fear of the morrow…
What if tomorrow I would die?
What if my limbs were ripped free,
And my blood gushed from a thousand wounds..?
And my eyes stared coldly into night?
Would I be a good man…Or a bad man…?
Or Just
…A dead man?