a stuffed pillow that one will rest on.
with a gentle quilt that hugs one tight,
very soon his weary mind will take flight.
In the midst of battle one must bear,
the crest and symbol that he shall care,
aims and goals that set so high,
as if humans were meant to fly.
Crimson blood that drips off one,
like an endless shower of a gun,
holding on so tightly like none,
trembling deeply with a strong front.
Falling into darkness one must bear,
diving deep into the hunter's lair,
shutting out senses that one can't help,
but to succumb to the fear that one once dealt.
From the ashes of fire shall be woken,
a glimmer of hope that they have always spoken,
that one shall rise up on this dire occasion,
but is this really his passion ...
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