Nightingale's Journal

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Nightingale's Journal
"In the rise and the set of the sun, 'Til the stars go spinning, Spinning 'round the night Oh, it is what it is, and forever Each moment a memory in flight"

2013-05-15 7:45 PM
Innocent Sorrow

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Mood:
Sad

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The snow used to be white. Snowflakes tumble to the Earth a tender, passionate, yet cowardly red. The moon is visible through clouds even though it is snowing. The moon is full, but cries tears of blood. The tears mix with the red snowflakes and end up being scattered on the tattered ground. However, they may not even touch the Earth, but cold and pale flesh.

The human on the ground does not stir. She lays there with her eyes closed. Her long, thin, bleach-blond hair fans out around her head. It is wet due to the slushy snow. Her body faced the sky, but her face was to her right. There was a large gash on her left side that bled crimson blood. Her left hand, also covered in blood, lay next to an ornate sword.

The sword, beautiful yet dark, was also smeared with a sticky red substance. The handle was made of pure silver with no gemstones. However, there was an onyx stone that sat on top of the handle. The blade itself was silver. It started straight, but curved to the right. Then, it straightens out toward the tip, which is slightly curved.

The girl's face contorted in agony and she gasped for air. No one alive was around to notice. A young man lay near her. He was long dead with a whole in his chest right above his heart. He was beautiful even in death. Black hair was atop his head that was not too long or too short. His face wasn't too thin or too large. His face was chiseled and well shaven. His body was tall and very muscular. He lay facing the sky. The girl was struggling to move closer to him.

Death lives on my skin,
His thirst quenched by my love's blood,
Spilt by my hands, I could not control.

Death took him,
Caressing his soul,
Deeming him no longer part
Of me, of Earth.

Death yearns for me,
To give into the rapture,
My love gave me before deceased
To crumple the rivalry,
To bring back the love,
Long lost in myst of lies.

Oh, I pray he waits for me,
As I waited for him,
As I try to go to him now.

Could I end this,
With these two hands of mine?
Finish the job he never could,
Before I took his life?
Before….lies took us to
Oblivion, she thought. The girl opened her eyes, that appeared to be pale blue. With great effort, she lifted her upper body off the ground. Her left hand groped and found the handle of her sword. She gasped and pulled herself toward him.

She reached him in a time of a few steps. She collapsed on his body as tears rolled down her cheeks. She cried for her dead family, dead priest who was her friend, and her dead love.

Accusations are never honest
So the truth is deemed a lie
Love is deemed as hate
Hate is deemed as love

Torture shows no truth
So a lie deems more pain
But what is believed a lie
Is the truth

Punishment is not a price
For those who are innocent
Their sorrow is the prove of guilt

The punishment is a false price, she thought. The girl wept even harder into her love's chest. She longed to hear a heartbeat, a prove that life is worth it. Yet, she only heard her own. With one stroke of the blade, she forced her own heart to bleed and stop beating.

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