How could I think her, part of this?
     How could I think her evil?
Her very life unto her hands,
     an urge of good primeval.
And now a fiend parades my mind,
     betray my own position.
As darkness clouds my thoughts,
     and sows a boredom of contrition.

I steal my thoughts and scarce them make,
     to nullify her actions?
A sin of great proportions,
     a headiest of infractions.
With beasts attention far from I,
     my task on me beset.
I make my heading opposite,
     returning places wet.

The tunnels seem more deafening,
     now I am all alone.
And claustrophobic panicking,
     I moan at wily stone.
Stooping low, and dragging hand,
     against moist mossy wall.
I slowly measure progress,
     albeit nothing more than crawl.

Constricting tighter, tunnels turn,
     the map called Y is gone.
And with no ounce of training,
     I begin my marathon.
Mayhap I will perish,
     mayhap I will compete.
Mayhap I will finish and
     I'll still be on my feet.

The hours pass, so grim the time,
     I spend in squalid stupor.
I rant and rave unto myself,
     berating novice trooper.
The sun is falling fast asleep,
     and yawns on dreamt horizon.
The soldier now, a wretched star,
     is all that he relies on.

Yet up ahead an orange shaft,
     the bliss creeps up my spine.
Oh Thank the Lord, Rejoice and sing,
     where heaven and Earth combine.
A door I reach and peering out,
     the city more than vacant.
A path less travelled, no signs of life,
     nor marks of onyx patent.

But straining ears I hear them,
     like distant running streams.
The hum of undead life, awake,
     the throng of soulless screams.
A bearing can't be measured,
     no single source location.
A populis' united song,
     an anthem for their nation.

Outside the world overtly green,
     a proper emerald city.
With flowers dancing in the breeze,
     a potent picture pretty.
The war is over, nature won,
     it claims its many spoils.
Retaking plains a plenty,
     through the tarmac's nurtured soils.

I gaze upon a rabbit,
     that roams the city free.
Consuming luscious city grass,
     of distant scarcity.
'Tis only now that fear subsides,
     I take the chance to see.
This world of dead is quite undead,
     and brims with ripe beauty.

Nature came to decorate,
     the drab grey stumbling streets.
A coat of ever changing paint,
     each city block repeats.
Towers transformations,
     now wearing robes of green.
Each one the fairest maiden with,
     the brightest skirt you've seen.

As orange turns to red above,
     The Lord paints in the sky,
And birds continue singing sweetly,
     sunset's lullaby.
I stand bewildered, lost in awe,
     the shadow walks the street.
Transfigured cityscape complete,
     as man admits defeat.

Through all his efforts man in vain,
     forever tries to make.
Creation greater than the Earth,
     his obvious mistake.
He toils, works and plans his labour,
     oft to much distress.
Yet nature's beauty stands apart,
     a work so effortless.

And in this moment, perhaps the wind,
     steals the moans away.
Silence once more fills the air,
     at the closing of the day.
The peace I feel this moment past,
     in truth I'd call serene.
And since I woke, restraints bespoke,
     the happiest I've been.

Yet as the darkness dawns,
     the realisation dawns inside.
I'm exposed out in the open,
     and I need a place to hide.
But as I scan my options,
     I know not what to choose,
Each building a Pandora's box,
     in which I win or lose.

I fear I should not gamble,
     preferring to deduce.
But factors here seem complex,
     out of reach, perhaps abstruse.
I pick an entrance regal,
     with bony pillars flanking door.
Nested next to launderette,
     and cosy liquor store.

And as the soft green steps I climb,
     so careful of the flora.
I reach and touch the maiden's hands,
     a greeting for Pandora.
The opening inviting,
     a touch of upper class,
I walk and pray the beasts away,
     then press my face to glass.

Somewhat aristocratic,
     the soul in stone reflected,
As if despite the fall of man,
     it's status unaffected.
But peering now beyond facade,
     reflections lustre faded.
I see the movements of the dead,
     the clockwork heart invaded.

Thirty beasts or more inside,
     not one displaying sense.
Dragging, twitching, crawling,
     for a cause with no defence.
Yet standing as I am,
     my face becomes of ash.
Reflected in the glass I see,
     the emerald forked flash.

I'm paralysed, tormented, by
     a hue of dual intention.
One moment brings me peace and calm,
     the next raw apprehension.
Yet it seems this hue, part of a theme,
     one could say colour scheme.
And acutely now it calls to me,
     from the depths of nightmare dream.

The dark clouds roll and thunder claps,
     the dead are hence alerted.
And to their angry snarling mode,
     each one has now reverted.
I thank the Lord the door is locked,
     they press on what is sealed.
Invisible to them and yet,
     to me a cast iron shield.

The clouds doth gather overhead,
     and slow just as before.
My nightmare edges closer,
     salivating carnivore.
I feel its jaws surround me,
     my chest constricts and holds.
Oxygen is lacking as,
     the scene above unfolds.

Betwixt the teeth of fear itself,
     I call out to the Lord,
Audible or not, he hears,
     and wields His mighty Sword.
The sky applauds the flash precedes,
     yet tightly doth they cleave.
My breath returns in short sharp bursts,
     relief I can't believe.

That flash again illuminates,
     great portions of the sky.
A noise so loud, my thinking quakes,
     and the clouds solidify.
I note the arc across the sky,
     each time the same location.
As if it had a target or,
     predestined destination.

I trace the veins to find their path,
     it seems it hits close by.
And running down the steps,
     the jealous arcs intensify.
Hungry for connection,
     the lightning hits its mark.
And through a gap in buildings wall,
     I spy the showering spark.

I wish I could control my legs,
     but they simply wish to run.
Driven on by wanting,
     by a silent beating drum.
Perhaps a peek will solve my strife,
     and memories return.
The verdant dragon breathes again,
     to fuel innate concern.

And then I see the centre point,
     where arcs somehow combine.
Sparks explode and pepper earth,
     a scene from Frankenstein.
A figure lone is standing there,
     tall and resolute.
Covered well from head to toe,
     in a slim protective suit.

An eerie light behind the figure,
     casts a silhouette.
And details lost, as if embossed,
     on fabric flannelette.
The rifle borne in hand however,
     needs no lens of hand.
Through and through, a menace true,
     that all will understand.

"Farmer Queen!" the figure booms,
     amid the thunder's roar.
"You have no right to be here,
     what are you looking for?"
No answer comes, not yet at least,
     the lightning's cadence quickens.
And breathing deep I stand my ground,
     as atmosphere thickens.

Then onto scene an adversary,
     comes to take their place.
An adversary elegant,
     as if from a different race.
The darkness hides their features well,
     a veil I see through.
The adversary standing there,
     has eyes of cobalt blue.