ON THE MORROW

.:. T.I. Pendraig

He spoke naught
for he found himself deep in thought
of a life that he so needed
and the signs he ought to have heeded

His past years spent counting the greys
the nonexistent days of peace and calm
a way of life he knew not
he sat, silent, lost in thought

Those past lies, blood, and war
a curse he assumed forevermore
to haunt his dreams and be his bane
he sat, still as stone, never the same

He held his sword close to heart
ever ready for when battle must start
without respect for how far he was caught
he sat, careless, trapped in thought

He spoke naught
for he found himself deep in thought
of a life that he so needed
and the signs he could not have heeded