Fallen

The coast runs for miles, but between me and my maker; there stands nothing but clouds.
The bitter cold of winter creeps into my body, and days pass by like souls become shades.
The haunting melody of leaves upon the ground sing of mortals dead in a still grave,
six feet down.

Like sweet remembrance, spring returns as a fleeting thought.
Women and wine, and more women still.
Blood soaked hands, painted faces of war, the last stand.

My summer by joyful youth,
floating on the earth’s round in a blue spray of camaraderie.
Running wild on dry land, running in innocence.

Now life’s thread is measured no more.  
I wither as like follows like.
They will pull my frozen body from amongst the snow,
stiff and lifeless,
my sword in my hand.
I will float away to where my brothers await me.
There, I will sleep and dream of dreams,
and things forgot amongst,
 the Fallen.