Post by giggles on Aug 2, 2006 13:08:34 GMT -5
The monestary grows quiet as the soldier raises his blade, he looks at the one who's at the end of his days. With a great cry he brings the sword down and the air easily fills with one simple sound. The sound of the flesh tearing so fast, the sound of a death, and he'll never look back. For he is the one who carries with him death, he is the one that many shall see, and he is the one who'll you'll kneel at his feet. He is the Executioner with a heart made of stone, he is The Executioner who has grown so cold. He is the Executioner who's tale shall be told, in all walks of life both young and old.
A short poem written by Giggles.
Note: My poems have specific rythyms and dwon't flow if you don't know it.
A short poem written by Giggles.
Note: My poems have specific rythyms and dwon't flow if you don't know it.
