Brilliant was the moon, shining down onto my face and into my soul. Today was it. The figure of whom was me, a soul, wandering to the fine point to what was him, a soul.
He knew me. It is almost humorus to what I couldve down to stop it, but I didnt stop it. It was very peaceful I must say.
The figure, his face and the look in his eye. He did it, I never thought of how it would happen, days I thought it would be peaceful, beside my family, or for a noble cause. None of these fanastys came true.
The moon, brilliant as it was, it changed. Today I rested under the crimson moon and the moon brought only death.
Poem inspired by Edgar A. Poe
