35 - Martyr Rescued

How fragile is life that mine is gambled,
And that yours sits numbly at my knife edge.
It glides by veins like a fox through brambles,
'O almost-martyr, I'll save you', I pledge.
A pledge I'll break if this job's mishandled-
And my life follows, or so they allege.
A human life is worth so little,
A hundred thousand for an acquittal.

I feel the explosions through the rumbling
bass that shocks my heart back into function.
They're not here yet, so focus- you're fumbling.
Once-nimble fingers sweat with instruction
I seal the bleeding, through gauze it's bubbling
He'll live though not long. Organ malfunction.
I wipe your insides, now outsides, on tar
stained sleeves, and yearn to see the open-night stars.

I've nearly forgotten how they stare back
at you, gleaming teeth in a yawning maw.
I've nearly forgotten how that jet black
breaks into burning bliss, as moon withdraws
and our hunters look in still dust for tracks.
We hide from that sunlight as if in awe.
If we were seen to walk that perfect light,
Our well eyed foe would quickly end our fight.