PFC Ryn S. Goodrich
Posted By: Cottrelli<nick_cottrelli@hotmail.com>
Date: 13 April 2005, 9:34 PM
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The shells race from the darkness, their endless report
Disturbs the man's sleep, this time no retort
His rest once peaceful, now it turns black
He can't kill the demons, of these there're no lack
Mournfully he awakens, wishing it not so
Slowly looking to distance, to behold his woe
Once the sky was blue, calm and serene
Now assuming a different hue, as if killed by some fiend
The man looks back down, his face now distraught
His friends lay around him, though their lives are nought
The beast he sees not, the beast of lament
Slowly approaches, intending him to repent
He is unaware, as the blade slowly falls
The white sickly energy, forcing death's calls
The man would not see it, for he is at the Gates
For there in the shadows, the Chief of Masters awaits
I decided to use punctuation this time. So yea...
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