A Ballad for Death

A compilation of the first 500 poems I ever wrote.
I write in my free time accross different styles and themes, sometimes there are reasons to what I write and sometimes there are not, but I always try to follow my inspiration.


112. Before the ink

Under grey clouds, his dying breath,

He expires, on to meet death.

A cold chest stained by dark red blood,

Pierced by a long and sharp steel rod.

The fight has gone on for hours,

Never flinches, never cowers,

Qualities that she now curses

As tears flow and cry pierces.

Trying to save his love he died,

In only that he took his pride.

The monster stands, still tall, unharmed,

Over her who he sees unarmed.

Oh she attacks -without a doubt!-

She strikes and strikes again, all out.

For once he sees what fear might mean,

But she falters, not yet a queen…

A wicked smile spread on his face

As he gives her a good end’s grace.

All is quiet as he means death,

When suddenly, a single breath.

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