Heroes evening
The water, so bare and moist with the tears of the people in the village.
The battle horns sing in and out of tone as the lifeless body of a god falls so deeply into the river.
Enveloped in seaweed, and with a white rose bonded to his chest. They settle his body in.
The tears fall of the children. Their hero dead.
A widow in his sash, which he held dear as he marched into battle.
Marched with the widest grin she has ever seen
Marched to the unknown.
His son on his shoulders in an old photograph. Now his son old enough to understand, cried as the river pulls the seaweed covered body down the long river.
Said to be the gateway to the holy land.
The song grows soft and the world stops rotating.
Life is a delusion.
However, it is cherished by most and yet sacrificed by all.
The villagers watch. Hear the world start to wind back up.
And fade as the deed has been done.
The hero watches his body as well.
