The blood slowly crawls down from the point,
the gasping lethality of the wound, its only contrast of distraction.
War is but a method to reach Peace, a variable, nothing but a fraction.
I would gladly run my blade through any man's essence, so long as it fell silent.
No more hate, no more anger, nor tempting fate. The end of their abhorrance. A swift, bitter end, violent.
My duty to those above me is done. Its end brings vast fields of life. All matter of colors blossoming, enchantment postbellum.
My long hair sticks to my neck and face, sweat and blood on my brow. The ground tainted red, brown, and torn. Nothing remains of the velum.
Silenced forever, no whispers from the dark, no shadows to play with my mind. No dark,evil fester of pain, no more rationalizing, it all ends at last.
War seemed like my art, however it is simply a canvas, I imposed red tones hard and fast.
My hands come down, my bloodlust finally sated. My heart with both hope and woe is laden.
Now i look forward to the calm, the serenity. The end of my years, as a Battle Maiden.