The Thrill of a Dying Man

January 26, 2010
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I saw him falling like a shadow, his dark love in his head
His blood shone like the morrow, on the snow, now his bed

“It has become clear too late” this man he said to me
He firmly clenched both my hands as I listened to his plea

“they lied to us” he would gurgle then, as I listened to his whim
He raised his head higher now, as he knew death was on the brim

“we fight for nothing in the end, other that Satan’s wish”
“pride, heroes and glory are just words they use to fish”

“There is no thrill, there is no right in killing your brothers now”
“We lose it all when we fight and when we hear the ‘pow’ ”

Blood was filled in his face, where his mother used to kiss
His eyes suddenly gave a shudder as they turned to bliss

The ice was burning in my hands as they became so loose
The hands that had other plans, but would see no truce

His wife would no longer feel his zeal after the choice he made
With the army he made the deal and now there was no aid

That short encounter that I saw, was the last of the man
Death changes many things as I saw life’s short plan

Enemies or allies are words we use, when we have to kill
We only have our pointless views and they give the ‘thrill’





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