A brief poem on the epic-ness of assassins creed, made for a friend. |
Silence, with shallow steps with each movement his shadow adepts upon his sight he sees a foe slowly lurking closer by inch and toe unsuspecting the victims heart paranoia begins to start and he may think he sees the same face during the time of the assassins race the bald eagle over head has already foreseen the future red and the sky bright gives him a path a clear straight walk to a gory aftermath the sand crumbles under his feet followed by the killer discreet and then he turns to realize when him and his death finally meet eyes a chase and a gasping sound they run fast on the beaten ground pushing crowds body in motion the chaser becomes a grim reaper notion fast, sweat in air the hearts collide in swift move pair they've become a one part soul one to take the body and send the head to roll only feet separate them soon the runner gets weary but his fear prolongs his doom his body now moves only on whim before his soul is taken away from the limp late limb finally the runner lets open his rage past vendetta rips open the cage and as he shifts up a speed then sprints to allow his knife to impede the arm shoots the metal steel blind motions slice through the wind and peel and the runner finally feels the sharp pain piercing through his skull and seeping out his brain the assassin applies the pressure pouring out the old blood and bringing upon the fresher and then the runner drops to his knees the tingle is felt along with his pleas he knows he has ended with the knife and his last few blinks flash him his life twitches along his skin then the force brings down the pin his head stapled to the ground and finally his breathe ends the sound and the triumphant man on top gets off the dead prop and silently walks away repeat the deed without a witness to say and with a flash he disappears he will not be among the surrounding peers allegiance sworn from oath to seed and thus long live the creed |