poem

Inspired by applezombi's Rekindled Embers.

Dying flames,
Why won't you hear me?
We call out your names,
But you just leave us be.

We call out to those above,
The dearly departed and dead,
For them to protect those we love,
Before war fills them with lead.

Glaring white towers,
Far above the ground,
Built from the oppressed powers,
From the ashes of the downed.

Blue, Purple, White, Orange and Pink,
Melding together in a sea of red,
Forcing the yellows to destruction's brink,
Creating their own bloodied bed.

The banner flies high above the walls,
Shining with the glistening sins,
Watching over the broken thralls,
Parading over their ill gotten wins.

I pray for our souls, for our mistakes,
Because for should we ever meet our heroes,
They'll show us the great blood lakes,
The ones we filled in the oppressed's death throes.

For then when we fall,
All we'll see is hell.