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MY FAITH
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Ashramaru
39
Ashramaru
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CloseThe absence of slumber is my faith. The blood and gore of my victims caress my body in a cloak of infinite warmth; second only to the flames of Hell. My eyes are shrouded by the heinous figures of crouching demon of who reside in the darkness, ever clawing at my face, ever taunting me for the deprivation of light, the loss of my sight. And with my mouth wide open I lay there, merely a corpse of my former self. Drool trickles from by fierce brand of deception, my silver tongue of which I had used to blur the path of righteousness towards my brothers remain docile. The times of murder had come to pass, but still I laid there. Immersed in a puddle of sweet, staring at the virgin ceiling, wishing, hoping, and praying these visions of my psyche would come to pass. But still it came; the thick vapors swept over my eyes and the same memory beckons, alluring me from my placid resting place, and carrying me to the stage. The cold shrieks of the crack violins set the tone, as the screams and cries of those fallen heroes welcome me. A canvas painted crimson red from the blood of my comrades is the image that lies before me. With trembling hands I grasp my sharp, keen cutting tool from the earth, only to glimpse upon my face in the murky puddles of blood and water that lay infinite around my space.
I had known the place once before, it was my home. It was the shelf in which my master had kept me, the space in which I would be forever confine. No matter how many times, I had departed from this God-forsaken battle ground, it never departed from me. I was condemned to this faith since the facade of peace and bliss during my birth. I am condemned, I was created for this path, I was, and will always be a tool. I am a tool, whom bears a tool, a puppet of war; there will be no salvation for my deeds. Only in death, will a warrior, with bloodstained hands, obtain salvation through sleep. And alas I was never put to death. Despite the amount of fear that coursed through my body, Never once did I fall to the blade of another, Never once did I receive peace for my deeds. Alas I was never put to death, in lieu, I now lay here, staring at virgin ceiling, forever beckoned to my home, forever called to the battlefield. The absence of slumber is my faith.
- An Account of A World at War
I had known the place once before, it was my home. It was the shelf in which my master had kept me, the space in which I would be forever confine. No matter how many times, I had departed from this God-forsaken battle ground, it never departed from me. I was condemned to this faith since the facade of peace and bliss during my birth. I am condemned, I was created for this path, I was, and will always be a tool. I am a tool, whom bears a tool, a puppet of war; there will be no salvation for my deeds. Only in death, will a warrior, with bloodstained hands, obtain salvation through sleep. And alas I was never put to death. Despite the amount of fear that coursed through my body, Never once did I fall to the blade of another, Never once did I receive peace for my deeds. Alas I was never put to death, in lieu, I now lay here, staring at virgin ceiling, forever beckoned to my home, forever called to the battlefield. The absence of slumber is my faith.
- An Account of A World at War
demondestiny
889
haha, i couldn't write anything like that. Anyway, it sounded good and well written. :)
Ashramaru
39
Thank you mate, its a little think I am writing for my MMO. I'll have some things up a bit.
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