Red.Mature

Marching, charging,
Romans everywhere.
Running around,
With very short hair.

Crying my war cry,
Wind whipping my face.
A thread around my neck,
Made of lace.

Then I see his face,
Lying there in the cold.
He has now no future,
To unfold.

He was my friend,
Till the very end.
My brother,
My druid,
Too.

Now he's gone,
Gone forever.
He's body lays still.
But his spirit,
Never.

I reach up to my hair,
And close my eyes together.
Being very still,
I unpin a feather.

I place it on his cold, hard chest.
I'm seeing red,
He said that I did that a lot;
Even at my best.

I look around,
And see many on the ground.
Their spirits going on.
I'm hoping, soon, they'll be reborn.
In a better time,
One where, we Brits, can sing a song.

I see my people fighting them,
Going down soon,
By the swords,
From the Roman men.
I look behind and see,
One of them.
Looking at me.

He's getting closer,
His eyes flarring,
All in red,
Is what he's wearing.

I grab my sword,
Hold it tight,
Wishing for Nyx to help me,
My goddess of the night.

He's getting closer,
He's got a limp.
He sees my face,
Smiles,
I'm sure of that,
I think.

He stops in front of me,
Tilts his head to the side.
His smile streches,
Really wide.

He opens his mouth,
Really wide.
Says some a word,
That I've never heard.

I know Nyx is by my side.
So I make myself smile,
But it's not that wide.

With her I'm not scared,
If I live or die.
My spirit will go on,
All that matters is that I've tried.

He'll beat me.
I know he will,
Even being lame.
I won't make it through another fight,
Not again.

But I'll keep on fighting.
Lashing out,
And biting.

The End

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