Death on the Battlefield

Crashing onto my knees, here on the blood stained battlefield,
I feel defeated…like a hunted animal about to be killed,
Looking at the worn down field, no longer lush with green grass,
A softy whispered prayer escapes my lips in my last moment before death.
I begin to feel a soft wind brushing gently on the back of my neck,
‘Tis the wind created from the sharp glistening blade held above me.
As his strong powerful arms, pulsating with power draw up the sword…
I tense my muscles as I brace myself for the pain…
Then…the horrid feeling as to hear my own head slowly hit the ground beside me.

Now, as I float here…it is such a sensation,
Yet now my eyes fall to the ground to see my very own decapitation.
To see my body lying drenched in my own blood…
On the wet ground, droned in the mud
I reach my hand outward as if trying to ease the pain,
As I try to pull myself away before I totally go insane.
Finally looking away and closing my eyes, I try to forget the horrid sight…
Then I slowly gaze upward…before I follow the beautiful light.


Poetry Main