Fortis Cadere


Fortis Cadere

He walks determined, each insistent step a defiance.
The fire of the skies makes the blood glisten
As it runs down his arms and falls –
A perfect sphere from gory hands.

His face is a crimson mask marred with bitter tears
And a smile like a sharpened sickle.
Ragged gasps escape between teeth,
Cracked lips calling softly; a single name.

He looks towards the heavens,
Watches a swallow swoop and turn,
A dark darting shape against the cloud streaked sky.

The smile falters,
He falls,
And never rises more.

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