The blood was sticky already, but the assassin didn’t grunt or even slump, barely recognizing the gash in the side’s existence. He was a trained killer, a master of his trade, dangerous and always present and alert. His heart had calmed, the adrenaline back in its stores, ready to rush through the killer’s veins again, give him the extra strength, focus, even luck needed in times of need. More

This poem was originally published years ago, as a teaser for the OrnTales project. I have purged the blog post part of this update, so that the poem is what it is.

Fallen

So I stood there,
On top of it all
Speaking to angels,
And trusting them all

All was clear and true,
Life’s a concept to me
Destiny’s path is solid,
Plain for me to see

Then came the storm,
Of darkness and fright
Took us by heart,
Ate our souls in the night

Hilltops of heaven,
Angels speaks to you and I
The shadows overcame,
So everybody must die

Fallen to heart,
Fallen to soul
Fallen by choice,
Fallen by the foul

So I stand here,
Beside mountains of hate
Blood and death behind,
I walk my own path of fate

- Ke’Malon Brizabrazni