A War Never Won

Fire burned against the sky, and he tasted ashes on his tongue.
Tears of loss carved twin paths through the grime on his face,
Yet he did not stop, for he was far from done.
Blood dripped from between his fingers.
Spilling from fresh wounds atop old scars,
A testament to battles fought and a war he’d never won.

All about him the earth lay fallow, nothing stirring but endless ashen dust.
His body burned and his soul throbbed and ached,
Screaming out that he could not go on, yet he must.
Stumbling blindly as his life slipped through clenched fists,
Falling to paint stories of suffering, of the life he’d left in smoldering ruins,
A masterpiece in shades of rust.

At last, he fell, with nothing left to give.
Rolling to his back he looked to the sky in bitter askance,
As to why he had never been given the chance to live.
Never seen anything but agony and sorrow.
Blood though his closed hands spilled faster,
Life pouring through a broken sieve.

Choking on smoke as he tried to scream, to give agony a voice.
Searing Wind shoved the sound back down his throat,
After all, it sneered, this was your choice.

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