The Face of a Man

There in the way of summers

Young morning

There stood a man

In the suns golden lighting.

Nothing appeared off

With his tired yawning

Besides the fact that

He was holding,

A lifeless body.

This man has a name

That we will not say

But a face says more

Than a simple name

In this case.

Leathering and scarred;

Overwhelming characteristics.

Sliced from knives with blood trickling down

The fresh wounds from steel.

Unable to contain the tears falling down

The cold blue eyes

Down, down, down.

Carving a path through the beard

Growing in patches

Coldness leaving his lips with

Dark blue splashes.

Your senses tingle

When he looks at you

His mouth turnt up in a smirk

The limp body he holds slips from his hands

And the man approaches fast;

To take your last breath.

* Did you enjoy this poem? Please consider tipping so I may continue on this journey!