Tip of the spear
edge of the knife,
a night you'd remember
the rest of your life.
Justified by fear
living in your mind,
trying to decipher
an act of that kind.
The moments of that day
lead you down a path,
never imagining --
the outcome of such wrath.
Pleading with the heavens
to show you the light,
dealing with the devil
no answers in sight.
Searching your heart
racking your brain,
denying your soul
waiting in vain.
Daring to challenge
all that you lost,
pushing the limits
but at what cost…
An act of such violence
will torture the living,
the memories remaining
are so unforgiving.
Sorrow and pain
can easily deceive,
masking the motives
of all we perceive.
Calling on angels
to heal the grief,
submitting to demons
in hopes of relief.
Taking a life --
ending the dream,
walking in darkness
in silence we scream.
No training exists
to prepare for this fight,
so always remember
blood stains the knife...
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