Rough and Unpolished

While nothing is ever set in stone when it comes to me and my writing (I even change old works to bring them more relevant to my new experience and mood, though I do try and save an original copy as well) this is something that I was working on tonight. I'm not exactly sure where I am going with it nor where it is coming from, which for me is a little unusual. Here a glimpse of a rough draft (by the way titles are always the thing I do last if at all):

as we walk shrouded in white fog
with diverging hearts and minds
we whisper lies to each other.

the wide river besides us rises up
as if to cleanse our mortal fallacies,
but is lost to our blinded eyes.

for it is in the valley of spears we
walk without shoes while bleeding
from unfeeling feet.

hidden doth the truth stay
for it is not truth we wish for
but our own delusions of reality.

the dying light

cold steel rends flesh and bone,
dripping red beads down metal blades,
raining crimson tears upon the ground.
life’s flow ebbs from its mortal shell.
In the stillness silence prevails.

in our reckless greed we hold tight,
even as the sands of life slip away.
lost in a twisting emptiness while
snow falls covering all scars.
And the world fades to night.

in the harsh light of truth is seen
the fields of spears where fallen
remain, forever locked in battle.
souls sundered from this world.
Sightless eyes to bear witness to all.