His form, silhouetted against the red sky
Held a sense of defeat.
Slump shoulder posture,
His outstretched hands, pleading.
Glints of fire far from his reach
reminded him of his solitude
On a hilltop won by no one;
the child’s body lay at his feet.
His voice echoed across
the land and in his mind.
Blind eyes returned the question,
burning through his soul with
Purple sky sparkling with white ice,
the vapor of his breath the only
sign of the living here.
Still he sought an answer
A lone figure against the night
Blotting out stars,
Stained blade in his hands.