Do you hear the walls crumbling
And the parapets smashing to the earth?
It is the flesh of my brothers,
It is their blood
That stains the very soil I walk upon.
Aye, the moon is high
As I shed my crimson clothing,
But I fear
That a layer of filth
Shall forever stay upon my back.
If only I could shed this skin
As easily as I shed this cloth,
If only the blood would wash away
Much like this water to my trembling lips.
Then maybe I would not spend
Every waking moment of my life
Knowing that upon these hands
Blood has been split,
Knowing that upon these hands
The stains shall never fully fade.
And as I rest my decrepit body
On these cold stone steps,
And even as the slow sunrise
Catches these shattered
Stained glass windowpanes
In a motion as grand
As any god could have conjured,
All I see is darkness.
All I hear are the cries of the dead
Whispering things better left unsaid
In this fragile land of the living.
Does she realize what she has done?
Does she realize all she has caused?
Does she realize what she has broken?
So now, my brothers,
I tell you a story.
Do not doubt it for its truth.
There is no point in lies
For only the weak can tell them,
And this truth is much stranger
Than any fiction that man could create.
But first, my brothers,
Let me leave no doubt in your minds
Of the character of this lady.
For this story concerns her
And the world as we know it.
Of course that’s the way
She always wanted it to be.
A kingdom fell for her,
Men died for her,
The saints loathed her,
And evil worshipped her.
And I?
Well, I lived for her.
But let me assure you my friends,
That this point I cannot stress
Any more than I already have.
And I tell you my friends
That if you remember anything at all
From this tale I tell tonight,
Just please remember this:
The woman is a beast.
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Submission Name: Hark! To The Ramparts! Pt 1
