Aurum

I walk across an empty, crimson field,

Crimson like the tears on their stained clothing,

Served with an empty plate that shall not yield,

As the walls for the liars are folding.

A cold breeze comes to hinder my stature,

But I shall stand tall for those who did fall,

My vision can only see a hachure.

I am alone in a field full of brawl.

In my pocket a cold splinter,

And in my chest an even colder heart,

Which compliments my dry hands of winter.

But I am thawed out through some golden art.

An aurum muse with a seolfor hand,

And for once I do not misunderstand.