The Fallen

By Abhinand Anil

I climb up a tattered scaffold

To the top of the citadel,

Knees bleeding, clothes ripped,

Face mauled

I look up to the moonlight above,

No visible stars to guide my path anymore.

My mind stays shell-shocked,

Crimson blood soaked

Into the shining granite floor.

It smells like singed wood and rotten meat,

The moonlit path guides me to the edge

I forget my wounds for a moment; taking in the vistas of snow.

Feelings of contempt racing to my heart,

My blood boiling with rage

I rappel down to the surface.

My soldiers, my friends, my brethren

Up in bright, orange flames,

As if Vulcan himself landed upon them.

I grab onto the remnants of the memories I have left,

With a heavy heart, I write this.

Your Highness, I have failed you.

By Abhinand Anil