A Fading Wound, A Warrior's Death
A Fading Wound, A Warrior's Death Old, most just pass him by. An era past, forgotten and left behind. The world spins without patience, without delay. Time, a ever ending creation lasting beyond death. And he sits, alone, atop a park bench. Carefully listening to the chirping of birds. The soft distant chatter of passersby, as he feels the echoes of his fading thoughts. Memories long held in horror, visions of massacre, of impending demise at the eyes of the enemy. His grey hair, covered in an old black hat, labeled with golden words. Sorrow rolls about his heart like a tumbling stone to the splitting of earth. He remains the last of those he loves, those brothers he held dear, in time of crises, in time of peace. Friends that felt as he did, friends that knew of his scars. They too shared such wounds, silent and those of the visible. Shadows of anguish shower his face, his sinking skin slowly reaching to earth. A grave be his ...