Under the pitch black sky,

And the cold, dead moon,

He stands alone.

Wrapped in silence,

Shrouded in darkness,

Except for the candle he holds.

Bodies of friends below him,

Rivers of blood around him,

He smiles.

The air grows colder,

The shadows lengthen,

He holds his candle higher.

The light gets brighter,

The moon glows whiter,

The red around him disappears.

The night flees.

Under the bright blue sky,

And the hot, yellow sun,

He stands alone,

Still holding his candle up high.

--- AEBEA ---

Ooookay. Yeah. So, this is a poem I wrote. And I quite like it… but… don't take my word for anything. Tell me if it's shit or if it's actually an acceptable poem.

See ya!

-Blessing