Ripping Down The battle field slumbers for the g..

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Ripping Down The battle field slumbers for the growing night, at least. Rivals sleep precariously beneath the eaten feast. Fury burns and bubbles in the belly of the beast And I sit on the bloody ground awaiting from the East. A tension builds around me, there's violence in the air: Corpses of our angels growing grey, blood-matted hair. Their empty words as weapons, broken lies and fickle flares, Fall behind me such as dying souls in the orange blood-moon's glare. I'm torn between two deities, my morals run aground, My thoughts and better judgment swamped in noise and in it drown. I cannot make a truce between them- my words don't have sound, And I can only watch their claws that clash when ripping down. ~ Copyright © Alex Beaufoy Salguero 12 • 3 • 2013