Scars that are real
Will all but fade…
leaving nothing but ghosts…
on fleash baring the trade.
Tropheys from battles
fought but not won…
As i flee from the torment
where my hell had begun.
For how does one war
Against rage and such hate
From seeds of destruction…
Time… will not erase.
For the hour is upon us…
with the lines finally drawn
my soul cries for mercy
For I have been here too long.
Antony King © 2018
