The Man That Stole My Life From Me

By Othelia

You wonder how I came to this place,
And why a secret I wear on my face;
Well now I tell you,And beg you these words:
Do not judge me,until you have heard.

I was raised in the Safelands, lived as dead,
The weary grey dullness pounded my head.
I longed to escape,set my energy free,
But my family there sorely needed me.

My parents were kind,and loving and strong;
My mother would croon me lullaby songs;
My father would tell me of far away lands,
He held my world in his powerful hands.

My father was hunting on the night that they came,
Sometimes i feel it was him to blame.
A hooded man,in nervous excite,
Invaded our home in the dead of the night.

He grabbed my mother,slashed her throat,
Left her to die as some game he had caught.
I hid till he left,then screamed out my heart.
I cried on my mother,her head torn apart.

Outside was some noise,had he returned for me?
My stomach was lodged in agony.
I lay next to my mother, my head by her head,
And prayed he would think that I too was dead.

The door opened,I heard his shock,
I felt his horror as his heart locked.
I heard him cry and unsheath his knife
He moaned as though he'd lost his life.

The stranger yelled,and i knew his voice,
This man was my father,O rejoice!
I looked around,scrambled from the floor
But he plunged in his knife and cried no more.

I remeber his face,as he fell to ground;
His hand brushed past me and,without a sound,
He heaved to his death,bathed in his red,
My mother,my father,my lifetime was dead.

Without a thought,I stole the knife,
And into the night I hunted his life.
The hooded figure,who tore me apart,
The Devil of hatred that ripped out my heart.

I found a letter,out on the hills;
Stained with blood from fearsome kills.
The parchment read "In Iridine stay"
The rest of the letter was scorched away.

Weary and bitter,twisted-alone,
I vowed to find him,give the hate he had shown.
Collecting my things from my battered chest,
I had to set my parents at rest.

I set on my way to Iridine city.
I bathed myself in hatred and pity.
A few sacred memories,I clutched in my hand;
And headed towards this talked-of land.

Even today,I am hunting him still,
The hooded figure whom I swore i would kill.
Frantically searching for a piece of my heart
To cling to and remember those torn apart.

So if you see me,now you know,
Why I keep to myself and my suffering shows;
Hoping that someday I will finally see
The man that stole my life from me.

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