Damp moss wraps around
an oak tree,
arms stretching high.
River flows slowly by,
brown leaves cover forest ground.
A man sits in the tree
plucking at an instrument.
Each note tells of a sad tune.
Hatred covers his eyes
where his soul once shined.
The man drifts off,
instrument still playing the sad tune.
A young man sits holding
a baby in his arms.
He settles in his village,
noon light shines on them both.
He hands the frail life to his bride,
leaving to gather wood.
Hours pass, and sun sets.
The man turns to head home.
Forbidding darkness pollutes the air,
it hovers over the village.
Lucifer smiling at him.
He sees disciples
lighting all on fire.
The man runs to his house,
heart in his throat.
Ashes make up his home,
his family is missing.
Ice cold chills of terror
run down his spine.
Spotting them fleeing into the hills,
he smiles for a split second.
A shot rings out,
his bride falls in grassy hills.
Horror creeps across the man’s face,
replacing the smile.
A solider yells,
"Got them sir."
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