Fall

It was a cold dawn, red and beautiful
He rose, not by will by habit
His sleep, he wanted to be eternal
The fire in him was smouldering,
It lay in wait, for a word, a gesture
It was dangerous, it was powerful
Sensual and earthy, yet dark and despairing
It would destroy everything that day
His mind, his soul, his body and everyone
who stood between him and his victim
War is a nasty game, the winner also loses
War turns happy faces to thos of misery
Innocents become butchers of lives
Children are forced to grow up.
He was no different, he was only human
The tumble from innocence is long for some
But all things must end, just like they begin
And in the cold red eve of spilled blood
Amidst his own fallen brethren
His vengeance was complete,
His soul shattered with the act.
He was no more a child
How could he ever be one?