If you were to ask me —

Which you have —

What Victory were to taste like,

I would say blood.

Blood,

The blood of those,

Who fell because of you,

Because of what you wanted.

Blood,

The blood of your own heart,

That was spilled many times,

To achieve what you wanted.

You believed it was right,

You believed you were doing good.

But take a moment to reflect,

How much good did it bring?

What lengths did you go,

To reach your goal?

Did your hand need to stretch,

High through the clouds?

Did it slice through the clouds,

As it rained down on your blind eyes.

Did you ignore the warmth as you bathed,

Or did you comfort the clouds around?

Do you regret what you did,

To get to the end?

Part of me hopes you do,

The sorrow of their loss far surpasses the Victory you won.