The stench of corpses rises, sweet and alluring,
a nectar poisoning mesmerized bees.

You stand in the clearing, watching the crying stars,
drenched in deep, sinful crimson.

I watch as flickering tears fall down your face,
silent with the beauty of the moon.

Your eyes, though stained with a devil’s miasma,
are still the color of purest innocence.

As you weep for those who have fallen,
played by gods thousands of miles away,
these pawns in a game
there is not a sight more
than you at that moment
for forgiveness from those
whose lives you’ve just
beautiful
who cried
stolen away.