Under The Bloody Moon

A cycle of poems «Warrior Won't Hurt a Child»

Beneath the blood-red moonlight, where shadows whisper low, 
An ancient warrior lies broken, in the silence of the woe. 
His armor, once a beacon, now tarnished and cracked, 
Each breath a heavy burden, each heartbeat a fading pact.

The echoes of the battle ring like ghosts in the night, 
Fallen comrades surround him, lost in the fading fight. 
He clutches at his wounds, where memories intertwine, 
With every pulse that falters, he feels the end align.

Under the bloody moon, where the stars refuse to shine, 
He whispers to the heavens, “I fought for what was mine.” 
Yet as the darkness gathers, and the cold begins to creep, 
He knows that in this stillness, it’s time for him to sleep.

The cries of distant warriors linger like a haunting song, 
Reminders of the glory, now shattered and all wrong. 
He remembers laughter shared by fires that burned so bright, 
Now reduced to fading embers, lost to the endless night.

With trembling hands he reaches for the memories of his kin, 
Faces etched in sorrow, where love and loss begin. 
He sees their smiles in visions, like phantoms in the mist, 
And in this final moment, he longs for one last kiss.

Under the bloody moon, where the stars refuse to shine, 
He whispers to the heavens, “I fought for what was mine.” 
Yet as the darkness gathers, and the cold begins to creep, 
He knows that in this stillness, it’s time for him to sleep.

The world around him trembles, as shadows close their grip, 
He feels the weight of ages on his weary fingertips. 
In the silence of surrender, he finds a fragile peace, 
A warrior’s heart is heavy, but in death comes release.

As the moonlight bathes him softly, in its crimson glow so bright, 
He dreams of fields of daisies, far from this endless fight. 
With every breath a memory, with every sigh a tear, 
He whispers to the night sky, “I’ll always hold you near.”

Under the bloody moon, where the stars refuse to shine, 
He whispers to the heavens, “I fought for what was mine.” 
Yet as the darkness gathers, and the cold begins to creep, 
He knows that in this stillness, it’s time for him to sleep.

So let his tale be woven into legends carved in stone, 
Of a warrior who loved fiercely but died all alone. 
Under the bloody moonlight, where shadows softly loom, 
He finds his final solace in the embrace of doom.