theories

Battlefield

Poetic minds are beautiful.

And though i am convinced

That you posess one,

There's no beauty in it.

Romance seems to be

Second nature to you,

But of the depth of its

meaning, you are ignorant.

Frantic in your search for it,

You destroyed the very thing

You so desperately wanted.

What's it like to be in love?

What even is love?

You, Knight in shining,

blood spattered Armour,

white horse and all,

Ride through the battlefield,

Silent as the hearts of many.

But the truth is, they are not silent.

It's you, dear Knight, who is deaf.

And many years from now,

An old man dreams of the

Battlefield every single night.

And as he takes his last breath,

He will know.

And he will regret.