Dreadend

She lies upon these scattered sands,
As scarlet streams run down her hands,
Her memories blurred by distant lands,
As slowly, softly, drained she stands,

She stares out on this foreign scene,
No sign of life, nor hint of green,
A charred and broken land picked clean,
No place for her, once so serene,

She leaves a path of crimson trails,
In lines across this path of nails,
Her vision blurred by smokey sails,
In panic as her balance fails,

She lies upon these bloodied sands,
Too weak to raise or feel her hands,
Her memories cleared of other lands,
Too late to see what darkness plans.


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