The sky was a painter's nightmare,
All the blood reds, sickly yellows, and diluted oranges clashed together.
Ashamed of their existence,
Attemptng to become important,
The colors surround a man clad in mutilated armor.
Weary of unlimited ruin,
Exhausted by suffering,
Gloried by none,
For nothing is left.

The man falls on his knees onto the cold ashes,
Ready to embrace everlasting sleep.
A faint sweet smell of life,
Dances into his scared nose.
Admidst broken glass and empty gun shells,
Are the remains of a red rose.
He gently holds the shattered rose,
Thorns all gone, only petals remain.
Jealous wind, snatches the petals,
But careless enough to leave one behind.

Warrior stares at the petal in his cut fingers,
Blood seeping into beauty.
Hand raised high into the war torn nothingness,
Lets the rose petal ride the wind,
To taste the freedom he'll never have.