Trickles of blood
stain the earth,
cascading downwards
leaving their crimson stains.
Why did this happen,
why did you leave us?

Defending their home,
we can feel their loss,
we crave their safety,
like the warm touch
of a lover.
They will not go ignored.

The feeling hits home,
as the blood seeps
deep into our throats.
We choke on their essence
as their agony becomes ours.
Free us oh Lords.

Lost pride and true sorrow,
a hero's death, clotted blood,
we cry not for their passing
we cry for their souls.
The last nerve cut,
and the flow of it ends.

Penned by my hand on the 7th of Chronos, in the year 611 AF.