It started with bells,
not church bells and angels.
No, it was the alarm.
Then there was nothing.
Instances of blinding pain.
Then fog and nothing.
There was no glory,
no battle between God, man, and the Devil.
Just the alarm and pain.
That was how I died
I turned and ran,
and shot in the back.
No courage or daring act.
I fell forward into pain
and sank into death.
Now I watch myself,
as I lay, bleeding, soaking.
Pink turns red.
Turns soft, liquid.
I look at my killer,
I cannot see their face, it's a blur.
This lesson, anger is not real.
Look at myself,
was this what I am?
And beside it all
I am proud.
