In Dawns Light Poem by Bethany Maxwell

Grasped in his hand
The source of ones life, ones self.
On the mans grave is where he stands.
Raising lifes container high a glint of lust upon his eye
Everyone chanting, a thousnd bands.

He smiles his risty smile, he blinks his bloody eyes.
He watches as blood runs down his arm, to its pooling lake.
For he knows that on this night it signifies all who will die.
The will die innecent, young, by his command.
And they know he means what he orders, for he never lies.

He opens his mouth as if to speak,
Yet he does not say, he only raises the thing to his mouth
As he pours the blood into his mouth the sun starts to peak.
It is dawn they shall attack.
As he stands, in his hand he holds his drink.

He thrusts his arm up and the battle shall start,
He looks over the man, and he grins, a grin of hate of power,
As he looks at the blood; deaths art
He turnsaway from the mand body, still holding his heart.