Writer1326

Deep into the heart of war,

Valkyries ride, as they soar-

above the land of mass bloodshed.

Whisking away the souls of the dead,

bringing them to the magnificent Valhalla.

A storm is brewing ahead,

as everything falls dead,

the leaves are no longer green,

and the sun cannot be seen.

Dark clouds cover the blue sky,

as the wind kisses the land like a sigh.

You don't need to speak the words aloud,

for your eyes already tell me the story.

And, for all of its glory,

I'd rather be stuck in a large crowd,

than be blinded by your imaginary clouds. 

Time is a fickle thing,

never in one spot twice.

Always on the run,

playing a wicked game,

with the mortals it torments.

It whispers sweet riddles,

melodies as soothing as a fiddle.

With a story only the wind knows,

I watch in dead silence as the snow,

falls onto the land, engulfing it in a hug.

Each snowflake dances in the icy air,

as animals come closer; warm and snug.